Change of Heart v2
by Lilian
Summary: On a fateful night, the Source manages to turn Phoebe to Evil. But there is a secret that only he knows that will begin the descent of the Halliwells into true darkness...
1. The Taking

_** Change of Heart **_

Chapter 1: T_he Taking_

by Lilian.

lilian413 at yahoo dot com

Author's Note: okay. I got **very** pissed off when I watched _'Black as Cole'_. I set out to correct what I (still) think was a big mistake, and decided to branch off a moment I thought could be exploited much further. Read and find out what I'm talking about. 

Dedicated to Barb: she shares my love for the characters and believed when my faith wavered. Without you, this would have never been possible.

* * *

. 

I never wanted this. I never have and, until I draw my last breath, I never will. Sometimes I think this is just some sort of freaky dream--- one from which it has taken me two long years to wake up. Two years of my life, lost.

Gone.

And I have changed. In more ways than one. I think I'm just a shadow of the woman I was back then. Almost three years spent in hell will do that to you.

Hell. Literally.

Prue is sleeping beside me now. I named her after the aunt she never met. Maybe some day she will, when she's old enough. But not now. Not when the pain is still too fresh and the wounds are still bleeding... I thank the Goddess that she was unharmed during the battle.

My small Prudence--- so young, she was so young! Barely a few hours old, I don't know how she managed to escape, but I'm just thankful that she was protected, even if I missed the first two years of her life. Somehow, she learnt how to shimmer even before she could talk.

She's got her father's intelligence. Which is good, because if she was even **half** the twit I turned out to be, she wouldn't have made it out of there. And my beautiful baby would have been twisted into a monster, and evil would have taken hold of her, and I would have never forgiven myself. I wonder if it would have made a difference if the others had known I was pregnant at the time. Would they have made more of an effort to come after me? After the baby? Would they have tried to save **her**?

I think it was her demonic side that sensed danger. Demons usually have the strongest of survival instincts… don't ask me why. Even in my current state, I could not tell you.

During those first months, I never knew where little Prue went when she shimmered away. I only learned the truth that awful day at the Manor, when I almost killed them all. When I let **him** almost kill them all. Prue went to her father. How she knew, I will never understand. But he told me how one day, this baby popped out of nowhere, and how, at first, he didn't know why she calmed down only when he held her.

Cole.

Memories of him have been flooding my mind for the past few days now. Of us. Of who I was. Once upon a time, one of the Charmed Ones. That is not who I am now. I don't know who I am anymore… I am not Phoebe Halliwell, and I am no longer that demonic assassin, Phax. That's who **he** wanted me to be. Loyal servant to the Source, once a Charmed One and now a murderer. I have been his for the past two years, and will continue to be till the day I die. A vow such as the one I took is never to be broken.

We are blood linked. His blood is mine and my blood is his, and as such he can never die if I do not die as well.

The Source was never a demon to be underestimated. I know that now. He threatened to kill my baby if I ever attempted to escape, and that proved enough chain to keep me by his side. He knows I would not try to run, because he held the key to my baby's life. And he also knew that it was only a matter of time before he could use my powers for his own good.

He knew he could turn me.

I had taken away one of his most powerful servants, Belthazor. And he was going to make me pay for it. Big time.

By turning **me** into his newest assassin.

He engraved his mark upon my flesh. I still cringe when the memory floats back to me, still fresh, still new, even after all these years. I allowed him to mark me. I gave him permission to scar my skin, to mark me as his own... all out of spite.

Out of hate.

I blamed him for a long time for that: I never knew I could feel such pure, undiluted hate. I know better now. He did not push hatred into me. He merely enhanced that which was already there and erased all traces of humanity left in me, just to make sure I wouldn't turn against him like Belthazor had. If there's one thing the Source is, it is smart.

I trace the inverted triangle on my forearm, scratching it absently as if somehow that simple gesture will erase it. But it's imbedded too deep. And it would do me no good. It's only the physical manifestation that the Source owns me. Like one owns a toy.

And it all started over two years ago. On that day.

* * *

. 

The day Cole proposed to me.

I had driven back to the manor with my futile efforts of convincing Emma of Cole's good intentions still fresh in my mind. I never noticed the strange aura that clung around the house. I swear, to be located on overlapping magical circles it sure couldn't protect itself. After all, demons came and went, around and through the manor as if they owned the place.

I opened the front door and as I stepped inside, I immediately called out Cole's name. I was worried he would do something stupid, because that is the way he did things: he tried to be noble without worrying about the consequences, and I feared he would go into the Underworld to try and solve things himself.

No one answered.

An air current brushed against my cheek and for a split second, I thought it was Cole, shimmering in behind me, responding to my call. How could I have forgotten what my sisters told me about assuming things? The strong body that pressed against me was most certainly **not** Cole.

When the cold blade of the athame caressed my neck, I froze, and held my breath in surprise.

Sykes.

I should have known it. Should have reacted sooner.

It would have been great to have an active power back then. Premonitions and levitation did me no good. And I couldn't even throw him over my shoulder... his body was conveniently positioned to resist any of my attempts at kickboxing.

"What do you want?" I demanded, and my voice trembled slightly. I knew my bravado had not fooled him.

"The same thing you do. Except I call him Belthazor", he gloated, that stench that signals '_demon'_ permeating the air around us. He wanted Cole.

All thoughts about my own safety flew from my head at that point and all I could think about was a way to keep Cole safe. He deserved a chance at happiness and I would be damned if I was going to let this pathetic excuse for a demon take it away.

I tried to reach for the potion inside my bag, the power-stripping potion I fixed for Cole way back when... when Prue was still alive, and things were well, and I hadn't been proposed to by the man I love, and I hadn't seen the look of despair in his eyes when I said no—I realized the bag had fallen from my trembling fingers and laid between my feet, the potion in open view. It mocked me, with the red liquid inside the bottle swirling around like diluted blood.

"And I don't need a potion to vanquish him", Sykes continued. His breath was hot and heavy against my ear. I shivered in disgust, everything that was human in me rebelling against his proximity. "I just need you", he finished, and before I could call out for help, he had shimmered us out of the manor.

And out of my life.

* * *

We reappeared in the Underworld. I had been here before and I knew the stench, the dark and the cold... but it was still a shock to my system.

I dropped down to the floor, limp and sapped of any strength. I was slightly surprised by the energy drain, because it hadn't happened the last time I had been here. But then, I had also being running high on adrenaline--- with Sykes, it was different.

It probably had a lot to do with the fact the Source himself was standing before me.

I had only seen him once before, through the enchanted lenses. Even then he had scared the bejeezus out of me. And to see him in full physical form, less than a few feet away, was enough to draw all the air out of my lungs.

"A Charmed one. Interesting", he commented in a deep voice that reverberated across the stonewalled chamber.

The soft candles lying about were not enough to penetrate the darkness of his robes. Nothing ever is, because he is the deepest, darkest of shadows ever to disgrace this world.

Sykes towered over me, the athame still in his hand. He seemed as surprised as I was to be standing in front of the Source.

"What are you doing?" Sykes demanded, "I need to go back and kill him!" It was probably the adrenaline, or whatever substitute demons possess that made him speak up like that. Even **I** knew when to stay quiet.

"You dare question my actions, Sykes?" the Source asked in a slow, menacing tone that sent shivers down my spine.

Rage flared through his eyes and Sykes took a step forward as he ranted, "Like hell, I do! You had no right to shimmer us here! I was doing just fine!" Even after all these years, I still don't know how I could tell the Source smiled at Syke's insolence. But I knew. And I knew what was about to happen.

"Then your services will no longer be needed", the higher demon stated simply. He waved his hand about, red skin reflecting the candlelight, and surprisingly enough, I felt the air around me drop ten degrees or so. And then Sykes exploded.

I covered my face with my arm, tried to shield it from the blazing heat that erupted from the demonic torch in front of me—a few embers landed on the back of my hand and I remember shrieking in pain.

And then we were alone, the Source and I. That's when I realized maybe Sykes hadn't been such bad company after all.

"Rise, witch", he addressed me with that smug tone I have since then come to despise. He knew I couldn't fight him. Not alone. And certainly not when my powers were at their lowest. And he knew **I** knew, which just bugged the hell out of me.

I struggled to stand tall but the shock of the sudden shimmer was still running through my system and I only managed to hunch over slightly. Only Cole has ever managed to make shimmering a pleasant experience—Cole! The unconscious thought of him suddenly reminded me he was still in danger. Cole, and Piper and Paige and Leo.

Of course, the Source picked up on my emotions. In almost a gleeful tone, he spoke. "Ahh, yes. You are afraid, are you not?"

My eyes snapped up, and I tried to glare at him. It didn't work. I remained silent, struggling with the weight of evil pressing down on me.

"Good". How could it be that he said so many things with that one word?

I stood there, wishing for a miracle to happen—a miracle I was convinced would **never** happen. Other than my beautiful Prue, I don't think I believe in miracles anymore. The Source approached me and I fought back the urge to cringe in fear. It's his aura—it reeks of power and evil and just—it devours you.

"You are strong, witch. Stronger than I thought. I see why Belthazor took a liking to you", he commented, with what I thought sounded like slight surprise. Anger bubbled up inside of me as I realized I was standing in front of the being that created Belthazor, the ruthless demonic mercenary.

"Don't you dare say his name", I hissed at him through clenched teeth.

I could tell he smiled at my audacity (or stupidity, if you think about it), and a red skinned hand reached out to me through the long sleeves of the robe. He grabbed my chin firmly and forced me to look deep inside the darkness of his hood.

"I dare, witch."

And for a split second, I **saw** what was behind the cloak and I screamed.

Because it was Cole's handsome face that greeted my wide eyes.

* * *

It took me a minute or two to stop screaming and a couple more to stop the twitching of my body. And all along, the deep, vicious laugh of the Source rang in my ears.

"Amusing. **This**", he said, waving his hand in my direction, "is one of the mighty Charmed Ones? How truly pathetic."

I fought back the bile that rose in my throat when I realized he was just playing games with me. God knows how many years he's been toying with me. With us. And I played right into his trap.

When I finally found the courage to look back at him, he'd completely morphed into Cole. Cole... with his blue eyes and strong chin and handsome body... The Source had gotten it right down to the last detail, that little scar on the side of Cole's cheekbone.

"No", I managed to whisper as I closed my eyes shut. My head was thumping and I was so dizzy—what was wrong with me? Still, the Source heard me. For all I knew he was listening to my thoughts. I'm still not sure whether he's capable of that or if he's just **that** good at reading body language.

"Oh yes. Isn't this what you wanted to see, Phoebe? Didn't you want to see me?" I heard Cole ask. Cole's voice, his lovely voice that would purr my name like a caress... he would whisper sweet nothings to me when we lay awake in bed after making love…

"You're not him", I tried to say, but my words were muffled and incoherent. God, what was happening to me? I couldn't think straight and the world was beginning to spin.

"Oh, but I am, darling. I am", Cole's voice reassured me, and it was so easy to believe him. I looked to the ground, to the soil... Goddess, and I begged for strength. But even the earth is polluted there. Foul and stagnant, the blood of millions seeping into the ground and I just couldn't take it anymore.

"Phoebe."

He whispered my name and he did it just right. He breathed it out, letting it roll on his tongue and soothed me with it. Cole. How could I not let myself be carried away into the fantasy?

"Cole", I found myself murmuring, my hand reaching out into empty air, fingers clutching at nothing. "_Please_!" My scream cut through the fog of uncertainty and I knew that if I only could have him hold me, everything would be all right. He reached down to me and cradled me in his arms. And I sank into them, weak, drained and lost. In his arms I found peace—his lips sought mine and I let him find me. I kissed him, I kissed him with everything I had, because maybe, just maybe, it was the real Cole and I was not in Hell, and everything was fine—

The foul taste of dank putridness invaded my mouth, making me gag, spit, and recoil from those arms that had momentarily been my haven. The Source unceremoniously dropped me onto the floor, his laughter like long fingernails raking against my skin. At least he changed back: without Cole's face, I could at least get a hold of myself.

"As I said. Truly pathetic", the Source commented with a smirk. His face was laden with scars, his eyes obsidian black. His skin was the color of white marble and I wondered if that was the face of nightmares.

I kept the tears welling in my eyes inside and forced myself to stand up. I did **not** survive hell during my three years as a witch to die like a worm, squashed under the Source's shoe. At least, if I was going down, I would go down fighting. His impersonation of Cole had given me some of my strength back—the sight of his beloved face reminded me I had a reason to fight, and damn it I was going to!

However, there was nothing that could be done to dispel the strange dizziness that had grabbed hold of my body. I felt as if I was moving in slow motion, a sea of cotton wrapped around my limbs. My vision was still blurry and my body ached so badly I thought I might pass out from the pain.

"Let me go", I managed to demand, trying to focus on the Source's face but it was back under the shadows. Or maybe my eyes were going blind; it was really hard to tell.

His laughter rang through the room again and it brought shivers to my spine. I collapsed against the wall, dirt streaking my arms and getting into my eyes. "Why should I?" he asked me, truly curious about my answer. I tried to find one, but I couldn't. My brain wasn't working, the lack of air making it impossible to think.

Cold sweat ran down my spine as I realized I probably wouldn't make it out this time. My sisters had no idea where I was and with the Source himself as my captor, I feared the outcome of **that** fight. I would not endanger them so.

"I would rather keep you down here. You are, I suppose, a lovely creature to look at. Maybe I will let my minions have their fun with you."

The promise of potential rape nauseated me but it was the finality in his tone that brought me to my knees. He knew I was not going anywhere. "However, I have a proposition for you", he continued. Something in the way he said it made me look up, made me try and make out his features inside the darkness of his hood.

"You are a powerful witch", he began, "and your powers are strong. If I kill you, another witch will receive them and I will only be left with another nuisance to deal with. On the other hand, if you chose to join me voluntarily—"

My dry, harsh cackle actually surprised him. He stopped and cocked his head to the right, in a gesture so reminiscent of birds of prey that I actually giggled. Was I going crazy? I couldn't really say.

The revelation that came with his words was surprising: the Source didn't want to kill me. He wanted to turn me! Without even hesitating, I spat out, "You think I would **ever** join you? Where have you been for the past twenty generations? The Halliwell's do not do evil. We fight it. You're evil," I pointed at him, finger trembling. I then pointed at myself, at some abstract spot on my chest, "I'm not. See? Do I need to spell it out for you?"

Voice high and full of panic, the last words of my diatribe were almost a shout. I had completely forgotten Sykes' recent punishment for his insolence, but my mind was whirling, and honestly, I'd rather die in a hell of fire and brimstone that have to face the Source for another moment.

"True. But no Halliwell has ever bedded a demon before, either", he calmly answered.

I froze. His words cut through my walls, through my defenses and like lightning, brought them down with one strike. He continued, beaming with self-satisfaction. "You have evil inside you, witch, whether you wish to accept it or not. Why do you think the Woogie was able to posses you? And why did Dantalian's spell work better on you that it did on your sisters?"

_It didn't!_ I wanted to scream, _it didn't!_ But right at that moment, something Prue had said came back in a breath, like something said in a dream: _'they didn't just plant evil inside of me, or us for that matter. There had to be something there for them to turn to begin with.'_

My mind went numb as suddenly everything became crystal clear to me. I had been attracted to Cole because the **evil in me** found a soul mate in him. I had been attuned to the succubus because I was evil. I had even been evil in my past life. What other sign could I possibly need to realize the truth? I—I was evil. I **am** evil.

"Now you see the truth, Phoebe? Just give in. Come to me", he requested, and my name on his lips was slithering, like a snake speaking directly to my heart.

No. No. NO! My mind screamed and the voice was strangely hollow.

Cole warned me against the Source's mind games. He explained to me how he slowly ate through his victims' confidences, destroying their egos, their realities; twisting everything they ever knew to be true.

_'I am **not** evil. I'm a good person, a good witch. I protect the innocents. I've saved the world. I am good!'_ I insisted, trying to fight the overwhelming sense of defeat that was creeping into my head.

Something surged in me right then, the last vestiges of the Charmed One or maybe the last flame of my own free-will: "No. You'll just have to kill me."

The Source was not disturbed. It's as though he had been expecting my refusal.

He simple turned away from me, his cloak billowing around him like a living thing. The torches flickered right then, as if fearing his proximity. A thing of such darkness can perhaps obliterate light. "Good. Resistance. I will enjoy breaking you, Phoebe."

As he moved a few feet away from me I could breathe a little easier. But then he spoke again and this time, his voice was enough to make bile rise in my throat: "Then, if you will not do it for yourself, do it for the one you love the most."

I smiled sadly as I informed him, "My sisters will protect Cole and Cole will protect them." He turned back to me, his hood suddenly becoming the focus of my attention and his words booming from the shadows within: "I am not talking about the traitor half-breed or your sisters."

That stopped me. It wasn't Cole? Or my sisters, either… who was it then, that could mean more to me that my family? Who was it that he believed would be enough to make me turn my back to everything I had ever held dear?

"What the hell are you talking about?" Anger was easy, anger I could understand. This subtle act of his was making my head hurt. He walked past me and I suddenly found myself following. I wasn't thrilled to realize he was using telekinesis on me and that I was moving under his control.

He remained quiet and kept on walking, taking me deeper and deeper into the Underworld. We walked past hundreds of chambers, each containing horrors worst than the last. Hundreds of demons bowed to him, flicking insults and covert threats at me. I didn't care. I couldn't care: my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, trying to understand the true meaning of his words.

"Who is it?" I demanded, again and again until the words stopped echoing on the walls around us and still he did not answer. The air grew suffocating and the dim torches failed to illuminate the far corners and I knew that even if I managed to break free from his telekinetic hold, there was no way I would be able to find my way back.

We stopped just short of a chamber, his magical tendrils brushing against my body and revolting me to no end. I hated that he could touch me with no hands and that I could not harm him no matter how hard I tried.

"Who IS IT?" I shouted one last time, but my voice was hoarse and the tears were too many, and it drowned against the powerful magic sliding against me. He turned to me, letting the hood fall back from his face and his hand settled against my stomach.

"Your daughter", he said, and fire erupted from his hand and burned my skin. Except it didn't, but I could now feel the little life growing inside of me, that small cell-cluster that was mine and Cole's and nobody else's multiplying in me.

My hand clutched his, trying to keep it away from me – from my baby – but it was of no use. He was stronger than me and the feel of his scaly skin against my belly, even through my shirt, was sickening.

He laughed and his fingernails cut through the thin layer of clothing and brushed against my skin for real and I screamed, but he did not stop.

"And she is mine, witch."

Those words were the last ones I heard for a very, very long time.

* * *

. 

To be continued.


	2. The Turning

_**Change of Heart **_

Chapter 2: _The Turning_

by Lilian.

lilian413 at yahoo dot com

Author's Notes: I'm so incredibly glad people are still interested in this story—it was one of my greatest fears, when I decided to start posting again, that you would have forgotten about this fic or its characters… I'm so happy you enjoy reading it, I can't even begin to tell you!

Thank you so much to all of you who took the time to review this: it gives me all kinds of warm feelings to read that you like what I write. And in the end, I am writing this for you as much as I'm doing it for myself! Oh, and for you to keep in mind: a new chapter will be posted every Saturday, giving me time to keep on writing the newer chapters as I post the ones that already finished to you.

Big hugs to all, and review: tell me what you liked, what you didn't, heck, tell me anything! It's always a pleasure to hear from the fans. :-)

* * *

. 

Cole was desperate. Concern and worry were things of the past, and desperation was clutching his heart in its talons and squeezing it until it hurt to breathe.

Phoebe was missing.

She had called Piper on her cell phone at seven o'clock. It was already eleven and there was still no sign of her. While talking to Piper, Phoebe had said she had spoken with Emma and that it had proven fruitless. Her tracks disappeared after that.

All they had been able to find was her purse, left behind just a few feet from the door. Cole saw the potion lying beside it, but it was the wrong one: it wasn't the Belthazor vanquishing potion. He knew what that one looked like, purple-colored and foul smelling. This one was red, blood red, tinged with the faint scent of roses and vanilla. He remembered this last one clearly, because it had once been meant for him.

Why was Phoebe carrying it around?

Right now, the small vial twirled around his fingers as he paced back and forth in the attic, waiting for Leo to orb back from Heaven. He hated waiting, but there really was nothing else he could do. He would not leave the sisters alone with the threat of Sykes still present. But every minute that ticked by was a minute he lost, and his patience was wearing thin.

He fought the urge to blast something. It would do nothing but scare Paige further, and the youngest Halliwell had been looking at him strangely ever since this whole Emma ordeal had begun. It hurt to see the fear in her eyes, distrust coloring her face whenever Cole spoke. Paige had never been exposed to his demonic side before this morning and Cole had to admit it had not been the best of introductions. But still, he had come to care for Paige and having her flinch whenever he approached hurt more than he was willing to admit.

He watched with narrowed eyes as Piper's pendant dangled atop the San Francisco map, swinging back and forth aimlessly. He knew it would sink down into any particular spot if Phoebe were somewhere to be found; they had been scrying for over two hours already, however, and their chances of finding her were slimming by the second.

The one thing that kept him from snapping was the certainty that Phoebe wasn't dead. The Book of Shadows remained as it had always been, the triquetra complete upon its cover. That, and Leo's reassurance that the Power of Three had not been broken yet were the only things keeping him sane as he paced across the attic.

Bells twinkled and three pairs of desperate eyes turned skywards as Leo materialized in front of them. Before Cole could say anything, Piper asked: "And? Did they say anything?" Nobody was surprised when Leo shook his head. When **had** the Elders known anything? It had been foolish of them to expect any help from them now.

"I'm going to look for her." With Leo among their ranks again, the threat of demonic attacks upon the Halliwells was not as important as it was to find the woman he loved. The silence that fell upon the attic was thick, heavy with things left unsaid and fears kept in check. Piper turned wild eyes to him, concern marring her features and making Cole stop in mid-shimmer.

"You can't! Maybe this is all a setup, a trap from the Source. He's trying to lure you out!" It was startling (even for Piper herself) to realize that even with her sister in mortal danger, she could not bear the thought of letting Cole step into danger as well.

Cole looked at Piper for a long time, his cobalt-blue eyes unblinking in that stillness that only old demons can manage. What went on behind his tormented pupils they did not know, but he shook his head once as if trying to dispel whatever feeling had grabbed hold of him: "If he has Phoebe, I don't care what happens to me."

And before anyone else could try and convince him otherwise, he shimmered out. Piper called out his name, but he was already long gone, shimmering between realms in search for the love of his life.

* * *

. 

The Source was a very patient demon. He had lived for thousands of years and planned to live on for many more, and demons did not survive this long without a certain amount of patience. For years, he had plotted against the Charmed Ones. For years, he tried to kill them. And now, finally, his patience had been rewarded.

He had been killing witches for years to no end, but no other had ever been such an annoying thorn in his side. He had attacked them with every warrior at his disposal: the Triad, the Four Horsemen—for Devil's sake, he sent his best assassin to murder them! It had all failed. They had thwarted all of his attempts at killing them, and even managed to turn one of his best soldiers against him.

All of this was enough to kill the witch that now lay before him. After all, demons more powerful that she could ever hope to be had been killed for less. Why hadn't he burned her, then? Why was he looking down on her as she cried, huddled in a corner like the weak, cowardly human she was instead of letting his power flow through her until she could do nothing but die?

Because he had seen something he had not anticipated. Because, as he looked deep into the witch's heart, skimming through her memories as he sought the best of her fears to torture her with, he had found something unexpected. He had sent a dark probe into Phoebe's heart, and it had answered back.

A confrontation with the old hag Penelope Halliwell about twenty five years back came to mind as he entertained the thought that maybe, just maybe, he had found something more useful to do with this little witch than kill her. The crone had been particularly adamant that Phoebe not look at him – she had gone as far as flinging the young girl into the next room, just to avoid the Source's gaze to fall upon her. At the time, he had not paid it much attention: his wounded pride as he was forced to flee in defeat had stung too deep. But now, feeling something dark and old pulse within Phoebe's heart, the Source smiled, sending a silent curse to the heavens.

"Seems your secret is out, Penelope dear."

His voice echoed around the room, the stone-covered walls amplifying the words until they seemed to beat upon Phoebe as she crouched in the far end of the cavern. Nobody answered, but then again, he hadn't expected anyone to. The distance between heaven and hell was too great, two magical places driven apart by magical forces that paid no respect to geography or any other physical law.

Phoebe moaned in pain, clutching her head and tears still streaming down her cheeks. Fool. Premonitions would do her no good in this place: if she continued her attempt to contact the Powers through her magic, she would be responsible for her own undoing. It was amusing, the idea of letting her be consumed by the weight of her own visions. A witch driven mad by her own power—a cautionary tale to her kind, the perfect warning for other witches who would dare get in his way.

But madness was a double-edged sword. A broken mind left him with no handles to control her, and then, who was to keep her from hurting her child? The child he needed, the child he coveted—the perfect merge of witch and demon, a mixture of both sides of magic and a miracle in its own right.

The future of his demon army, a new type of hybrid: half witch, half demon and **his**.

She wasn't the first witch to be impregnated by a demonic soldier. Before her, hundreds of women had carried healthy babies to term. All of them had been taken into the Underworld, nurtured by legions of wet-nurses—none of them had survived past their first year. Something about their genetic composition was wrong: the two heritages cancelled each other out. That was why they had stopped trying in the first place: the results were just not worth the effort.

He sensed things would be different with this child. It probably had to do with Belthazor's human half: his genetic code ought to have so many alterations he was unique in his own right. And the Charmed Ones, especially this one… they were something on their own.

He had never encountered such powerful witches before. There were prophecies foretelling their arrival, but nothing had prepared him for what was coming. Nothing **could** have prepared him for what was coming. Three little humans had decimated his armies almost to the point of no return: attempts had been made on his life and factions were spreading through the Underworld like wildfire. Alone they had undermined his reputation – what good was a leader that could not kill three humans? – and that, more than their vanquishes, was threatening his position as the greatest ruler the demon world had ever seen.

But all was better now.

What more could he ask? Not only did he have one of said witches at his disposal – proof that he **could** and would hurt them – but also a new form of demon would fall right into his hands if he waited eight more months... oh, things were looking good. They were looking good indeed.

A thought sprung to life in his mind: why settle for one powerful warrior, when he could have two? Mother and child, generals in his newly growing host… oh, the possibilities! Turning a Halliwell—had that ever been done? Of course not: Phoebe herself had reminded him of such truth, calling upon her ancestry and presenting him with a delicious theory.

Could they be turned? Could he exploit that darkness that slept within her – that even now, seemed to call to him, seductive and luscious like a siren's song – use it to his advantage and turn one of the paragons of goodness?

Oh, the very idea of taking on such a feat was incredibly alluring. The thought of having her at his side, proud witch-turned-demon to do his every bidding… and then sending her against the traitor Belthazor. Having her kill him and then, just as she drives an athame into his betrayer heart, loosen his hold on her and have her watch the love of her life die by her hand.

Laughter bubbled forth from his throat and the witch screamed. It only made him laugh even harder.

* * *

. 

Phoebe awoke slowly, the pain in her skull aching silently. Her hand came up and covered her eyes, the soft light of the hundreds of torches around them hurting her eyes.

Goddess, where was she? The last thing she remembered was talking to Emma... and then going back to the house and--

_Goddess, no! _

Horror crawled up her spine and a gasp fled through her lips. It couldn't be!

But it was. She was in the Underworld, the weight of evil pressing down on her like an invisible hand. It made it hard to breathe, as if the very air was thinner. Perhaps it was: or maybe it was just the impression of learning she was— no. No. She wasn't. She **wasn't**.

She was on the pill. They had taken every precaution. And Cole had sworn they were unable to have children. She remembered that particular conversation quite well, considering they hadn't spoken to each other for days after it!

She shook her head.

Pregnant.

Was she? Could she be? She didn't know. She had never really considered the idea of having children, not with the life she lived. How could she bring a child into her world, where she was not sure she would live to see tomorrow? She could attest to life without her parents, both taken by magic – one literarily, the other driven away because of it – at a very young age. Children were not something she dwelled upon, perhaps simply because she had never thought she would live long enough to have them.

And now, there was a little person growing inside of her… half hers, half Cole's—what was she going to do? She wasn't ready to have a baby!

"Are you really in there, little one?"

Her hand came to rest upon her belly, still flat and perfect, and wondered how long it would be before she started showing. And how would her sisters react? What would Cole say?

"Oh yes she is."

Her eyes snapped up and widened in fear at the sight of the Source standing a few feet away. A black cloak billowed around his form, hiding his body from sight. And he seemed so tall, so very tall from her position on the floor—was he this big the last time they had met?

"Leave us alone."

Us? She was talking in plural? Weren't women supposed to **know** when they were pregnant? Didn't they have like a sixth sense for these things? She had needed a high level demon to realize the fatigue she had been experiencing for the past few days wasn't because of exhaustion!

She remembered now that she had skipped her last period.

And then it hit her. France. It must have been France. With Cole: with a very passionate, apologizing Cole. It had to have happened there.

The Source's answer was lost to her as her mind exploded with a cacophony of sounds and images, all piling one upon the other until she could no longer tell head from toe. Eyes rolled in the back of her head, she let the premonition spill forth:

_A small bundle was being carried away from her, and she knew, she **knew** it was her daughter, the one growing inside of her right now, and she cried out for her, 'give her back!' but she couldn't speak, and the Source was towering above her, rubbing his hands together in barely contained anticipation, and she lay there, unmoving, crying, bleeding… _

Her loud scream echoed around the cavernous room as she returned to her own body, crying for help that would never come. She could still feel herself bleeding to death, her blood staining the dirt on the floor, seeping into the ground and away from her as her daughter was taken. The future still tingled in the tip of her fingers, aching as if it was her past.

The Source's voice came from afar, as if he wasn't standing a few feet away from her but worlds apart. But his words rang true, drawing her back until she found herself listening intently: "I will not hurt her. Not if you agree to serve me."

Phoebe gasped and heaved, the air sucked out of her lungs at the power of the premonition. It was real, and it was going to happen, unless she did something!

_Cole, help me!_

"The traitor cannot hear you. There is no connection between the Underworld and the surface."

She moaned as she realized he could **indeed** hear her thoughts. She needed to save her daughter... she knew it was a daughter, could feel it in the soft glow that emanated from her belly. It was female and truth to be told, how many men had been born in her family? And now she would die, die unless she did something—she was still too small to understand!

No, no, she couldn't! She was a Charmed One, she could surely find a way out! Escape the Source, return home—flames flared to life around her, inches away from burning her skin. She shrieked and tried to get back but the flames were all around her, enclosing her until the very air from her lungs seemed to burn away.

Her throat raw from screaming, the fire disappeared in a flash with a snap of the Source's fingers.

"Thinking of running away, are we? Think again, Phoebe. You are mine now, mine to do with as I please."

His long fingernails were black as they caught the hem of his cloak. For a moment, Phoebe thought he was about to flash her – which was enough to send her into a fit of giggles that soon died away – but the hand continued its path to fall back against his side. It felt oddly anti-climactic, but she got the meaning: he had made sure she was going nowhere.

"I can kill you both now and be done with it. But I want **her**", the Source said, and it was as if his hands were upon her belly once again. His voice was revolting enough to make her stomach turn, but she shook her head, squashing her fear as best she could. She stood up slowly on shaky legs, letting the rocky wall behind her hold her up.

"Choose the lesser of two evils, Phoebe", whispered a voice she knew all too well, and she looked up to see the Source wearing Prue's face. Gazing into blue-green eyes, Phoebe choked up and the tears began falling again, "Choose her."

Phoebe closed her eyes. It was all too much. Too much too soon, and her head spun as if the world itself was coming to an end, and all she wanted was to sink into the darkness of unconsciousness but she couldn't. She couldn't, not while the Source stood before her, waiting for her answer.

Feeling flames licking at her skin again, she opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by fire once more. The Source's face was hidden behind the black void of his hood, and Phoebe was thankful for that small grace.

Heat emanated from the magical flames; high enough to force sweat upon her brow. Sparks flew about, landing on her naked arms and letting the scent of charred flesh come forth. Not a single sound left her lips.

"Well?" the Source pressed her, hand poised and ready to strike. One move and the fire would burn her, her and her unborn daughter, "Should I kill you?"

_Cole, where are you?_ His name was like a prayer, fervent and desperate as she willed him to appear in front of her. Why wasn't he coming? Why didn't he hear her? She was certain he would come her, certain he would save her—but it seemed he would be too late. The choice was upon her now, and Cole was not coming, at least not in time.

Had things been different, Phoebe wouldn't have hesitated. Had it been only her, she would've chosen to die. She knew her powers weren't meant for evil. And she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg for her life.

But it wasn't just her anymore. She was responsible for another life and that made all the difference.

Protecting the innocent was her destiny. Protect the innocent she would.

She looked up to the dark ceiling, illuminated by the fire until it seemed almost—daylight. But it wasn't. She sent a silent goodbye to her family, safe in the certainty that it was the only choice left for her to make.

"No."

Never had one word conveyed so much emotion. And never had one word condemned a soul like it did hers.

There was a sound in the air, although there was no sound at all. It was that ripple in time, that wrinkle that marks a point where fate has changed. Phoebe Halliwell had just changed her destiny, branched off her marked path and chosen one of her own. Where it would lead her no one knew, but it was certainly not what the Powers had intended it to be. By choosing life, by choosing her daughter, she had altered the fabric of fortune itself.

The Source heard it and so did Phoebe, but the former chose not to comment on it and the latter did not understand it.

The fire still burned high, but Phoebe no longer cared. But then the Source's hand closed, slowly, almost lazily, and the flames began to dwindle down. Instead of disappearing, as normal fire would do, they coalesced in one spot, one tiny spot, forming a fireball that burned in white light. It danced in front of Phoebe, like a deadly firefly leading her into hell.

But she was already in hell. And the fireball moved by the Source's will, drawing ancient runes in the air. Phoebe felt the first stirrings of magic in her flesh, in that part of her that was pure power and nothing more. She recognized a ritual, felt it as her blood began to boil and she backed against the wall, afraid.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, her pulse speeding up as her heart beat frantically against her chest. He said nothing, but words were not needed. Before she could react, before she could stop him, before she could even blink, he was upon her and his shadow embraced her, the firefly smashing into her right forearm.

Phoebe screamed. She must have fainted, because by the time she came to it, the Source was nowhere in sight and her arm pulsed in agonizing pain. She moaned as she tried to sit up, her mouth tasting like ash and blood.

Her head hurt, but she was able to see the burn mark on her forearm. Third degree burn, at least, but even now, as she watched, the charred tissue was being replaced by healthier skin.

"Magic at its best", she muttered under her breath, wincing as the healing progressed much faster than her body could allow. The burn mark was taking shape: an inverted triangle, an elven character that she could somehow understand. It was an ancient symbol, and it meant '_Mine'_.

Whose, she did not need to ask.

Steeling herself against the ache, she sat up against the wall. The rocks bit into her back, her clothes torn and tattered. She was dirty, bloodied and scarred but letting her forehead rest upon her knees, she felt just the tiniest bit better.

_You're safe, my baby. At least you're safe, even if I'm not. _

Suddenly, a cool breeze blew by her. It was so out of place that it made her sit up again, eyes wide and unbelieving. The wind carried a word, just one word.

_Prudence. _

And she understood.

She had struck a deal with the Devil and bore his mark as proof. But her daughter, Prue, was safe. For now, at least. She now had nine months to figure out what to do.

She just wished her decision didn't sting so much.

* * *

. 

TBc...


	3. Goodbye

_**Change of Heart **_

Chapter 3: _Goodbye_.

by Lilian.

lilian413 at yahoo dot com

Author's Note: Sometimes, reading your wonderful reviews is all that keeps me going. I'm not gonna lie to you: truly, this story would not be what it is without you guys to cheer me on through the process. 

I'm so glad you're enjoying this new version of CoH… I know **I** am!

Now, enjoy, and see you next Saturday!

* * *

. 

"Cole! Cole!"

Someone was calling him. His name, that was his name, wasn't it? Cole—no, it wasn't. His name wasn't Cole; that was a human name and he was anything but human.

_Oh, but you are human, little one. At least half of you is._

He panicked. That voice, he knew that voice. He had heard it before, in between screaming and blood and tears, had heard it as power sizzled across his skin and tried to burn the human in him away.

_Aaah, yes! Scream for me, little hybrid. _

The tattoo on his arm pulsed, the thorned rose coming to life and clawing at his flesh. He screamed, because that was the only thing he could do. But he had no voice left, and his mouth tasted blood as his injuries bled him dry.

"Damn it, Cole! Wake up!"

Again, the first voice. Female, he thought it was, and most definitely not the Source. He concentrated on that because he knew if he didn't, he would fade away into the darkness that even now licked at his legs. Light at the end of the tunnel, a single point of light in the infinite shadows around him and he stretched his hand – _please_! – and then there was light.

He fought against something that tried to keep him down, fought against restraints that threatened to chain him again.

"It's us, Cole. Just us. You're safe here."

Warm, comforting—he identified Piper as the owner of that female voice that had saved him from the darkness, his beacon of light in the world of shadows. He clung to her arm like a drowning man, certain that he was bruising her but too scared to care. She said nothing, and instead clung back to him and they held each other as the manor shook around them, trembling as if the world was coming to an end.

"What—" he paused, tried to breathe and found it incredibly difficult to do so, "What is happening?"

His voice was lost as debris fell from the ceiling and Paige screamed and orbed in place. Where the hell was Leo? And what was going on?

"Leo brought you home, don't you remember?"

Piper's eyes were wide and terrified: even from his place on her lap, he could hear the thunderous beating of her heart. A particularly big tremor brought Paige to her knees and she skidded across the floor, driven away from them despite Piper's efforts to hold on to her shirt.

"PAIGE!"

The cry made Cole wince: his over-sensitized ears resented the loud call and he made a move to stand up. "I'll… get her."

He only got so far. His legs would not hold him and the shaking floor was no help.

About five feet away from them, the ceiling gave out and toppled down on the couch, just inches away from where Paige had just been. "We have to get out here", he said, more to himself than to anyone else. And he did the only thing he could do: he grabbed Piper's hand, cold and clammy despite the intense heat and shimmered to where he guessed Paige must be.

Reappearing in the solarium, he only had one moment to catch a glimpse of Paige's dark hair before the young witch flung herself at him and pushed both him and Piper out of the way of the falling grandfather's clock. He stumbled back, fell, and just as his head hit the floor, he remembered what had happened.

Phoebe—Phoebe was dead.

That was why the house was coming apart. And there was nothing he could do about it.

He was unconscious after that.

* * *

. 

She didn't know how long it had been. There was no sun in the Underworld and her days had all blended into one continuous dusk-like time, until she couldn't really say what the sun had once looked like. Or maybe that was just a reflection of her inner state of mind.

When the Source had said no harm would come to her child, not while she was still unborn at least, he had meant it. But Phoebe had come to realize pain could come from many sources. And that emotional pain hurts in places physical pain could never touch.

A song came to mind and it haunted her, driving her mad one verse at a time.

_Stick and stones can't hurt my bones. But words..._

There had been no rescue attempts. The Source had taken the time and effort to make sure she knew all about her sisters. She had seen, through his magic, how the manor was almost destroyed as an earthquake the likes of which San Francisco had never seen befell the city. The Source explained it was the breaking of the Power of Three—the final link in the proverbial chain had collapsed, releasing energy into the ground. She had watched as Cole tried to save Piper and Paige, failing as he fell prey to the erasure of his membership in the Brotherhood of the Thorn. She knew how much power came to the demons in their ranks; Cole had explained it to her in their dealings with Tarkin. What she had not realized was that being cast off from the Brotherhood would incapacitate him so much.

The destruction of the Power of Three was a monumental event. But she was alive, they had to know that! Leo could still feel her, her soul was not in heaven… she wasn't dead yet!

"He is in excellent form now, Phoebe. Why hasn't he come for you?"

She didn't even cry out in surprise when the voice came from out of nowhere. She was used to the Source's tricks by now, and besides, it was **what** he was saying that upset her, not how he said it.

Phoebe did not answer. She knew it would only fuel him further; give him the chance to pick at her insecurities. He seemed to be doing a fine job of at all by himself.

"Can Belthazor not shimmer in between realms at will? Have I ever stopped him from coming down here before?"

She shook her head before she could stop herself, his words ringing true in her tired mind. Cole could shimmer into the Underworld as he pleased—there was no power in heaven or hell that could keep demons out of their abode. So why hadn't he come?

And when had been the last time she had eaten something? She couldn't really remember. And sleep—she hadn't slept in days. Maybe that was why she was so damn tired all the time…

"Could it be" the Source continued, unheeding of her silence and knowing exactly the effect he was having on her, "could he have moved on, I wonder?"

Love. It was an emotion most humans coveted: they treasured it once they found it, they despaired if they didn't. It was also one of the most fragile of human emotions, held together by scraps of dreams and high hopes that could be easily brought down. The Source particularly enjoyed watching his captive crumble under his endless torment, becoming less and less certain of Belthazor's love. It is a simple thing, really, to let love fade… without reassurance it is easily destroyed. One day, not too long from now, he would break her spirit and finally own her completely. It didn't hurt that he got great pleasure in watching the witch doubt herself beyond the point of reason.

He saw the seeds of uncertainty blossoming in Phoebe's eyes. They were like dark saplings, drinking in her self-confidence and draining her will. All he had to do now was nurture them with precisely placed hits and, like a house of cards, the witch's heart would surrender to him.

There was something else that worried him. Something he hadn't counted on.

The child's parenthood was showing, demanding much more nourishment than Phoebe's body could sustain. Demanding much more magic than Phoebe was able to give. If things kept going the way they did, both mother and child would be dead within weeks.

He had to do something; otherwise both mother and daughter would slip from his grasp.

And that would definitely not do.

* * *

. 

Piper had not smiled for days.

There really wasn't anything to smile about, anyway. She had recently lost a sister, no, make that two sisters to Evil. And she didn't have anything else left in her to sacrifice.

Destiny be damned, she had given up.

Leo, Paige and – Goddess forbid! – Cole were all the family she had left. And she intended to keep them all as safe as she could.

She sat on the windowsill, her eyes lost on the driveway. Behind her, the manor was half on the ground, half still standing, as aftershocks of the earthquake still woke San Francisco from its peaceful slumber. Repairs were on the way and the handyman had not been the first to notice that most of the house required serious work, except for the bedrooms. It was strange, considering the amount of damage the rest of the manor had suffered, that the three bedrooms had escaped unscathed while the living room could no longer be recognized. The fates had spared them, perhaps in hopes that with a good night's rest she and Paige would be up and about in no time.

_Screw them,_ she thought, fighting back the tears. She was done. Done crying, done waiting, done having her family killed in a war she didn't want to fight.

Back in the kitchen, the small TV blared on as newscasters around the globe tried to explain the sudden earthquake that had hit the city. Absurd theories were the order of the day, but none of them as insane as the truth: how could she explain to millions of people that they had lost their homes, their jobs, their **lives** because her sister was dead?

Leo had confirmed Phoebe's death with the Elders. She hadn't really needed confirmation: the triquetra on the cover of the Book of Shadows had split into three separate ellipses and that was all the proof Piper needed.

And to top it all, she had a sick demon in her house. Leo had brought Cole home in the throes of a feverish nightmare. The half-demon had thrashed about as if mad, screams erupting from his throat like a haunted man. Then the earthquake had started and he had woken up—Piper still had the finger-shaped bruises to prove it. She didn't mind them: they were a nice reminder that there was someone as upset as she was with this whole thing. Besides, she distinctively remembered leaving fingernail trails on Cole's skin herself. She didn't remember much after that.

Cole had shimmered them both towards Paige – her stomach still turned at the memory: she would take orbing over shimmering any day of the week – and then fainted as his rose tattoo burned away with black fire. Luckily for all of them, Leo had showed up right then, orbing them all to safety.

Afterwards, when the earthquake was over, they had returned to the manor with heavy hearts. The Elders had explained. With calm, controlled voices, they had laid out her sister's death. And told Piper and Paige their days as Charmed Ones were over. Without the Power of Three they were nothing more than powerful witches, and that would not do. She didn't know what else they were going to say, because at that point she had blown up the marble columns behind them and Leo had thought it wiser to orb them back home. He had returned to heaven afterwards, to receive further instructions, after making sure Piper was more or less fine.

She was a far cry from fine. But she had sent Leo away anyway. She couldn't look at him right now.

And Cole—Cole was resting upstairs. In Phoebe's bed, where he had remained ever since returning home. She wished she could do the same: crawl into bed and hide under the covers, pretend this was all just one long, horrific nightmare and wake up to her family alive and well. Instead, she remained right where she was, watching as her neighbors tried to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives.

Paige had been a great help. Despite being as heartbroken as the rest of them, her young sister had taken over the household and cleaned and cooked and took care of things Piper didn't want to think about. Piper had half-memories of Paige bringing her coffee, but her shaky hands had been unable to hold on to the cup. She also remembered Paige saying something about Cole not eating, but Piper couldn't bring herself to care.

The chimes in the air told her Leo was back.

One look into his eyes was enough for Piper. He need not say anything. There was pain in his eyes, pure undiluted pain. Unbeknownst to her, the expression in Leo's face was the exact same he had worn on the Day that Never Was, when he had seen her dead body on that hospital bed. A dead sister had sent him away that day, sent him into the Underworld to retrieve the third of them. Ironic that now, the roles were reversed and Piper was the one pushing him away.

One look at him and she marched upstairs.

He did not follow.

She left Leo downstairs to deal with Paige. She needed some time alone.

Without realizing it, her feet led her to Phoebe's room. A chair left in the corridor smashed into her hip and she barely felt it. The dull, pulsing ache in her leg was nothing compared to the sound of her heart breaking inside her chest. The pieces fell and clawed at her insides, and she felt like ripping out her own skin just to make it stop.

She didn't remember Cole was sleeping in Phoebe's room until she had already walked in. By that point she was quietly closing the door behind her and she felt like an intruder, walking into his mourning. But then she looked at him, deadly still on the bed, and wondered if they couldn't help each other through it. It was the two of them who suffered the loss the hardest—she was Phoebe's closest sister and Cole was Phoebe's love. Who better than each other to understand the pain?

She remained there, back pressed against the door, needing the support of the wood, of the handle she hadn't yet released—something familiar to hold on to. Cole made no move to acknowledge her presence. She didn't mind.

Only their slow breathing broke the silence of the room. Hers, rapid and shallow, hoping that by forcing her lungs to work overtime her tears would not fall. His, much slower and much deeper, the sounds of a torn soul. Piper realized it was just fine with her. She didn't need sympathy. She didn't need pity. She just needed—what it was that she needed escaped her understanding, but one thing was certain: she would find it here.

"She's gone, isn't she?"

Cole hadn't been there when the Elders had broken the news to them. He had been back in San Francisco, feverish and ill, left behind lest the Elders kill him on sight. Piper thought it was the perfect epitome of how very wrong the Elders were: to forbid Cole admittance into Heaven when all he had done was protect them…

His voice was so low, his tone so sad Piper trembled with it. It made the tears return with a vengeance, brimming her eyes until she could barely see. Grinding her teeth, she pushed them back. She would not cry. She would **not** cry.

"Yes."

The word slipped through her lips like a phantom kiss. It echoed around the room incredibly loud, and it made things come into a sudden focus. Cole shifted in the bed and the swish-swish of sheet against sheet reached her ears. Soft footsteps followed and then, silence.

Piper and Cole had had their share of uncomfortable silences. Especially when he first came back, after Phoebe had supposedly vanquished him.

But this was different.

It was the companionable silence of two individuals who understand each other. The comfortable quiet between two people who have been through enough, and know words just don't cut it this time.

They stood there for a while, Cole looking out the window, right at the spot where Phoebe had waited for him on nights to no end; Piper with her back to the door, her hand still with a death grip on the handle, muscles taut, eyes closed, telling herself to breathe.

In. Out. In. Out. Inhale. Exhale.

_Don't think. Don't think about anything. Keep your mind blank, keep your thoughts clear. Don't think, because thinking leads to questioning, and I don't have any answers right now, and I don't think I ever will._

They never knew how long it had been until crickets began singing and the cars running down the street became scarce. Soft moonlight entered through the open curtains, covering Phoebe's things—Phoebe's life!—in a delicate silver glow. It was eerie, how even her things seemed dead—they were infused with her happiness, with her love, with **her**, and now that she was gone, they seemed to have lost their glow.

"I don't know what to do."

Her voice shook like a leaf in the wind, and it made her release her grip on the door handle. Her fingers were numb with lack of blood-flow and they stung as it resumed. She flexed her hand, unconsciously trying to quicken the recovery and felt nausea rolling in the back of her throat: Phoebe would never recover. Ever.

Biting her bottom lip until she drew blood, Piper waited for Cole's reply. He did not answer right away. He stood by the window, hands clenched into tight fists. He was the classic image of tall, dark and handsome: a dark prince come to sweep her sister off her feet.

"Remember her."

His voice was steady, unlike hers, but there was something else in it that spoke of anguish as deep as her own. An insubstantial quality, a slight intonation in his words—Piper couldn't name it, but it was there.

She never heard him move. Maybe he had shimmered. Frankly, it didn't matter.

What did matter was that as she looked up, she found herself looking into his deep blue eyes and found in them a sea of understanding and kinship.

He was tall. Taller than she remembered. Had they ever been this close? She couldn't really say.

Piper was trusting by nature. She accepted Cole as he was: a tortured demon looking for redemption. She had had her doubts about him, like everybody else. But the past few weeks, when he had become a habitual resident of the manor, sharing the bed with Phoebe and the house with them, she had gotten to know the half-demon much better.

And she had begun to trust him.

Hesitantly, she stepped forward and away from the door. She felt suddenly naked, exposed as the security of the wooden surface behind her disappeared. Ashamed, she turned away, desperate to get away from him before he could see the shadows in her eyes.

He stopped her. A warm hand on her shoulder, he softly turned her back around. Piper did not fight him—why should she? —and gazed into his eyes, letting the ocean in them drown her down.

"Remember her", he repeated, for both their sakes. And then it was as if something had given inside of him, some door had opened and she gasped at the waves of emotion that came crashing down.

Softly, slowly, as if afraid to scare him, her arms came around his waist. And she held him, trying to contain that onslaught that threatened to overwhelm them both. .

And, surprisingly, he held her back.

Piper needed reassurance, needed acceptance. Cole needed something to hold onto. They both closed their eyes and pretended they were with somebody else.

Cole was hugging Phoebe, the body in his arms shifting, becoming smaller, broader, stronger. Hair going blonde, lips becoming fuller, eyes changing. Piper just immersed herself in the feeling of being held. This was what she needed right now: strength, power, anger—things Leo could not give her right now. She couldn't even look at Leo right now. Not when he was the bearer of the terrible news. Not when somehow her subconscious mind held **him** responsible for Phoebe's death.

Death. How it seemed to linger around the house. How it floated above their heads like a dark, ominous cloud, striking whenever they thought they were safe.

She breathed deeply, inhaling Cole's unique scent. Of danger, and demon and human, and pain—his chest was broader than Leo's and the difference suddenly didn't matter anymore. Because strong arms were around her and they were making the pain go away, and she didn't care who it was she was hugging or even that he was thinking about someone else all along.

Cole let the illusion wash over him.

The wound was still too raw, the pain still too fresh—fiction mingled with reality and he was holding Phoebe, and she was safe. Alive. Warm in his arms, holding on to him real tight…

Piper raised her head from Cole's chest and looked into his eyes. Cole raised his chin, where it had rested on the top of Piper's head and looked into **her** eyes.

In both, unshed tears.

In both, unbelievable pain.

In both, the need to forget.

They never noticed how their lips got closer. Piper never felt the tautness of her calves as she rose on her tiptoes, and neither did Cole when the muscles in his neck protested as he brought them down.

Their breaths mingled, caressing each other's cheeks. The house was silent, the room was dark, and time seemed to stop as their lips came together.

It was hesitant, at first. Unsure.

But the feeling of lips under their own, the reality of it, the body behind it—their kiss became desperate, wanting, needing, demanding...

Cole's strong arms brought Piper closer to his body. Piper's hands came around his neck and lifted her more fully. He tasted like ash, like blood, but Piper realized it was her own… she had bitten so hard on her bottom lip she had drawn blood. The taste of it seemed to fuel Cole's passion further and the kiss became urgent.

And they kissed and as they kissed, they tried to forget, to put it behind them, to stop the pain—

Piper needed to be loved, to be held; Cole needed someone to love.

But Piper wasn't Phoebe.

And Cole wasn't Leo.

They broke apart slowly, unwilling to let the dizziness go. Unwilling to return to their own bodies, where the pain was waiting to pounce on them like a tiger does its prey.

Piper's lips were swollen, unaccustomed to Cole's fervor and need. Blood was flowing too fast through her veins and it echoed in her ears and thundered in her brain. Her fingers were still locked behind his neck; her lithe body still pressed against his own. Cole's eyes were clouded and his breathing was coming in heavy gasps. His arms still linked around her back, holding her close, keeping her near.

In a blink, the illusion broke.

And Cole wasn't holding Phoebe, and Piper wasn't hugging Leo.

And still, they did not part.

Because it was in each other's arms that they found the solace they needed.

Misery loves company.

* * *

. 

Before you kill me, read it again, and realize it is **not** love. It's pain. Period.

TBC...


	4. Rebirth

_** Change of Heart **_

Chapter 4: _Rebirth_

by Lilian.

lilian413 at yahoo dot com

**Author's Note:** Chapter 4 already, oh my! And this is all because of all the wonderful reviewers who have given me their wonderful comments, and to whom this story is dedicated! 

The more you review, the more I write! I swear, just reading your beautiful words makes want to write faster and faster... I'm a praise-addict, I think:p

To Barb, who answered my questions, and without whom this chapter would taste different.

* * *

. 

The child wasn't going to make it. And neither would the witch. He was going to loose both of them, taken away by incompatible physiologies. The Source knew this, and cursed in a thousand dead languages before he calmed down.

He could sometimes look into the future, only glimpses through his head, but he had seen what would happen should things continue on this path. If the girl came to term, Phoebe would die, taking her daughter with her in the process. During birth, the child would drain her mother dry, her power too strong for Phoebe's weak human body to hold. The witch would die during labor, if not sooner. And he would lose his chance at gaining a new type of demon.

He would have none of that.

He had been raking his brain for the past few days, trying to stop it. To save it. And he had come up with a solution.

He would need to bond with Phoebe. Despite the marking in her arm, that inverted triangle only his closest guards shared, they were still separate entities. It was more of a medal, an indication to those stupid enough to get in his way that the Source was not without warriors of his own. Now, to save mother and daughter from death, he would share his blood with her.

His blood was ancient and as thus, powerful in its own right. Sharing it with Phoebe would blood-link them, his blood to hers and her blood to his—they would become one. Empowered by the magic of a thousand year old demon, Phoebe would deliver the child to full term without problem. And, as an added compensation, grant the Source total and complete control over her.

If the marking ritual had given the Source ownership of her body, the blood linking would give him rights to her soul.

It would be easy for him to give her active powers through that bond as well. What use was a demonic hit man with no lethal powers? There is only so much an athame can do, the Source thought, drawing a hand over the ancient carvings upon his face. Magic, magic will kill at a distance. And maim in ways a blade never could.

He could feel the child's power already—it was like a halo that surrounded Phoebe wherever she went. It was intoxicating. It rippled and waved, oozing around her like an expensive perfume, heralding a new breed so powerful, so great, it would make any other demon obsolete.

Maybe Belthazor hadn't been a **complete** waste of time.

Still, it disgusted him to no end, the idea of bonding with a witch. There had been tales of such a ceremony—ancient folklore transmitted through generations of demons in the wee hours of the night. It was a forbidden magic: there were few still alive who remembered the last time it had been used, and even less who could perform it. The Source was one of them.

The sharing of blood was a sacred ritual: it linked two beings as if they were one, creating an invisible bridge between them both until the death of one would mean the death of the other. He didn't fear death: he **was** death, after all. It was the notion that should anyone find out he shared blood with the witch that scared him. His enemies – and despite his title as leader of the Underworld, there were many who would see him dead – could use her as a weapon against him.

_I will have to make her invincible, then. _

He smiled. Yes, that would do.

Who knew what powers the child would possess. Levitation, shimmering, energy balls, premonitions—and all the others possibilities that still remained unexplored. Fire balls, time freezing, deflection, telekinesis, energy drains, blinking, morphing—the list was endless.

The thought of having such a powerful demon in his hands was enough for the last of his doubts to disappear. Yes, yes. For the chance of having such an unprecedented asset in his hand, he would risk the blood link and much more. Mother and child, working for him, both feared warriors at his disposal to do as he pleased.

There was one tiny problem, though.

For the blood sharing to be complete, the Source needed Phoebe to be willing. Unless both parties willed it so, the blood link would never snap into place. And how to convince the still reluctant witch to give herself over to him completely? He knew there would be no torture, no torment enough to make her surrender. The only reason he had gotten away with what he had so far, had been because he had used the child's life as leverage. Somehow, he doubted that would work now.

He needed something else. Something powerful enough to bring her to her knees. To destroy the last bits of faith that still remained. And Belthazor had given him just that.

The Source laughed. Oh, Belthazor might try to deny it, but while his body was half human, his mind was purely demonic. Who other than a demon would attempt to bed their lover's sister not a week after her death?

"Phoebe", he began, summoning her to his presence. She came slowly from the darkness but came nonetheless, and that pleased him. Despite her resistance, despite her protestations, she was well on her way to becoming his, "I have something to show you."

She said nothing, and the Source basked in the energy waves coming off of her. To drink in that power was addictive—day after day, the child's power grew, changed, crested—every time he thought the girl had achieved her plateau, he realized that maybe there was no such thing for her. So much power and she was not born yet—who was to know how powerful the hybrid would become?

For a split second a shiver went up his spine. A glimpse of a possible, distant future… if the girl was this powerful, would he dare to let her live? Would he allow her to come into full power and perhaps one day turn against him?

Yes, he would. Arrogance was the greatest sin among demons, and in his arrogance, the Source dismissed such premonitions as fears born of an over-cautionary mind.

"Look. Behold what Belthazor does while your bed is still warm."

He ran his long fingers up and down her cheeks, almost like a caress. Phoebe was too exhausted to push him away, but it did not stop her from shivering in disgust. He laughed, and that laughter made her cringe and that's when he forced the images through.

She watched helplessly as Cole kissed Piper and screamed when the kiss turned passionate. She tried to look away, tried to turn from the image, but the Source's grip on her face was strong and his fingers dug into her cheeks like talons, holding her still.

Over and over, the image repeated itself, and Phoebe need not see what came after that. She saw as Cole pushed Piper back against the door, forcing her to rise on tiptoes to meet his lips. She knew what followed, because Cole had held her in a similar embrace many times before.

"Demonic love does not exist. It is only lust."

Cole had said those exact same words to her a long time ago. And when the Source whispered them in low tones, hushed and meaningful, she feared the truth they carried within them.

The memory of their love had helped her hold on. In the darkness of her cell, when the screams and cries from other tormented souls filled her ears and made her wish she could die, she would remember Cole and things would be a little better. She would remember her family, and the whips lashing across her back would not hurt as much.

But now—what did she have to hold on to?

The Source watched with knowing eyes how despair blossomed in her heart. How easy to fool, humans were…

"I can make it better."

Like a dark poison his offer fell into her, and like a dark spider it wove its web around her heart. _So easy, it is so easy_, he whispered in her mind, _just give in to me_. He watched her shake her head, the last, feeble attempts to push him away. And that's when he knew he had won, even if she wasn't aware of it yet.

Teardrops fell into the earth and it drank them down. Humanity did not belong in the Underworld and the Source's lies spread through Phoebe like wildfire, bringing her defenses down until she was stripped bare of them all.

He heard her in his mind, heard her call out to the heavens for help. No one answered her call. The angels were too far away to hear her, and even if they could hear her plea, who knows if they would have answered?

Phoebe felt herself falling, falling as she had fallen when Prue had died. Because the floor had just vanished from under her feet and there was nothing to hold her afloat. Cole had been her rock, her strength in those dark days, still so painfully close. He had cuddled with her on those cold nights when the reality of the empty room next to hers was too much to bear. He had washed away her tears with kisses, chased away her nightmares with his love—Piper had been too immersed in her own pain to console her little sister and Leo had been busy consoling **her**... their tiny family had fractured into couples and only Paige's arrival had began to mend the rift.

And now… now Cole lay with her sister, snatched from her without warning. When she needed him the most he left her… had he ever loved her? Had he ever cared? She couldn't really tell. Everything he had said, everything he had done was now colored with the Source's insinuations. She couldn't get a clear picture of their past, because every memory she conjured his words poisoned it until it wasn't her memory any more.

"I can make the pain go away."

The Source's patience was wearing thin. The witch had not spoken a word, had not said a thing—had he pushed her too far? Had he broken her mind as he sought to break her spirit?

And then, it happened. A damn broke inside of Phoebe's heart, that thing that had kept the darkness at bay. It burst forth with the energy of years of containment, desperate, angry and hating…

"How?"

Her voice was low and hushed, as if she was speaking through clenched teeth. One look at her and the Source realized she was.

Phoebe was a very complex woman. Many would have labeled her crazy. But through layers and layers of grins, witty comebacks and dangerous lifestyles lay an insecure young woman, still doubtful of her own worth. Her powers had come at a very low point in her life. Running from her past in New York, returning to a place where she knew she wasn't welcome, looking for a brighter future—the weight of responsibility falling on her fragile shoulders all too suddenly, consuming her time, covering her uncertainties, hiding them from sight.

Her life had become a roller coaster overnight, never stopping, never ending, never giving her time to breathe. Never once did she stop and try to come to terms with what she was carrying inside...

Hell, she probably had more emotional baggage than Cole himself!

She had always been the youngest and perhaps because of that, the black sheep in the family, the prodigal daughter who never completely repented of her sins. She had never had a mother to nurture her... lost her at the tender age of three, so young, so naive, so impressionable. Penny Halliwell had been too consumed in her own pain, in her own loss, to realize she was loosing her youngest grandchild—

And now—when things were looking up, when it finally seemed she would have time to heal, her life took another turn and left her dazed and lost in the process. The low self-esteem, hidden behind sassy attitudes and rude comments resurfaced with a vengeance.

The Source didn't even need to twist her thoughts... they became twisted on their own. Oh, the wonders of having a conscience. It was a demon's best friend when it came to undermining someone's self-confidence to the point of insanity.

"Blood Link. We will share blood and you will become powerful. Powerful enough to get your revenge."

Up until that point, Phoebe hadn't really thought of revenge. She just wanted to forget. Maybe, the Source could give her what she so longed for. Something to quiet the howl of her dead heart, of that place where her love for Cole bled, wounded beyond repair. But when The Source said it, it sparked something to life within her. Emotional scars had been accumulating for the past three years, and they were just **screaming** for a way out. And with Phoebe's first little hesitation, they slipped right through the crack in her armor and presented her with a whole new different point of view.

Why settle for acceptance, when she could make them pay?

It was easy to direct her anger towards someone. Having a target, someone to hate, gave her wrath focus. Gave it strength. And Piper and Cole presented themselves as the perfect victims for such hatred, because they had turned their back on her while she was still alive.

Oh yes, revenge sounded very nice indeed.

Thoughts spiraling in her head like a mad storm, Phoebe fought for control. Yes, revenge sounded nice: every scar in her back would mirror one of them. Every tear she had cried she would make them cry. An eye for an eye she would earn her keep!

No more doubts clouded her mind, no more questions pestered her thoughts. Her decision made, only one thing remained constant in the sizzling whirlwind of change than overcame her.

_You will pay. _

Revenge is a dish best served cold, they say. Oh, she would wait. She would wait all right.

She raised cold, dead eyes up to the Source looming over her. And even such an old, ancient evil like the Source himself shivered slightly at the hatred he saw in them.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

"Do it."

Still reeling with the heady taste of victory, the Source nodded slowly. He took her hand in his own. A long, black fingernail came forward, so long, so vicious, that just by looking at it, Phoebe trembled in fear. But hatred has incredibly power and she bit her bottom lip and let it come forth. Almost like a caress, the Source drew his fingernail over her palm. She did not even flinch when her soft skin parted under the pressure and hot, red blood gushed out.

A thin red line, it seemed to glisten in the torchlight and it looked almost—black.

She watched, unmoving, as he did the same to his hand. His red skin matched his red blood, and she absently wondered why he didn't bleed black. Only half-demons bled human.

"My blood." His whisper was low and strained, almost as if he was fighting an inner battle to let the words come out. Phoebe somehow knew what she had to say. The words rolled off her mouth, slid down her tongue and she let them, she welcomed them, she embraced them: "**My** blood."

She raised her hand, the red droplets shinning as they slid down to her wrist like snakes. Magic tickled at her skin, making the hairs on her arms stand on an end. It was old magic, she could feel it in her bones…

He lowered his hand, and it was so much bigger than hers. Their hands touched, their palms met and their blood mixed.

"Our blood."

Lightning and thunder cracked around them as black light emerged from their fused hands and darkened the room. It was almost as if had swallowed the fire. Phoebe had to close her eyes at the onslaught of power that took hold of her.

It itched at first. Quickly the itch grew, creeping up from her hand and into her arm, through her neck and into her heart. It was like sticking her finger in a socket—strange, unsettling and just this edge of painful. Her teeth rattled with the force of the link and then she cried out as pain erupted from her hand and across her skin, her entire body on fire as the very blood in her veins began to boil.

Her eyes rolled in the back of her head and just before she passed out, she heard the Source gasp for breath as the contact broke and the link was established. Because he had never thought it would take this much energy to bond with her. But now he had, and there were consequences to be paid.

For both of them.

* * *

. 

Leo trusted Cole. Ever since he had risked his life to safe Piper, throwing himself in the way for bounty hunters to take him to the Source, his doubts had been quenched and his trust earned. Saving his wife scored as the highest on his list. That was why he didn't care about the touchy-feely way they behaved around each other since—since Phoebe.

Really, he did not care at all.

Well, maybe a little.

He remembered as Piper had gone upstairs and locked herself up in Phoebe's room. It wasn't until they came out together, long hours later, that Leo realized Cole had been in there too. The fact that his arm was around Piper's waist struck him as odd at first.

When they hugged each other good night, he began worrying.

After all, Cole had this whole 'tall, dark and handsome' thing going on, and he knew for a fact women – and especially the Halliwell women – liked that. And he also knew he couldn't compete with it. He found the 'not-so-tall, light and cute' category fit him better.

But throughout his years as a Whitelighter, Leo had seen how people dealt with pain. And he clearly remembered as Piper had recoiled under his touch when Prue had been killed. They had spent long nights on opposite sides of their big bed, unsure, uncertain, needing to touch and be touched but afraid to ask the other for it. The fact that he had confirmed Phoebe's death had probably hurt Piper's psyche much more than she let herself know.

So he let it slide and squashed the little green bug of jealousy that reared his head whenever Cole approached his wife. Because he knew Cole was hurting too. Could see it in his eyes, haunted and cloudy, ever since Phoebe had—

It didn't feel right. It just didn't feel right. Phoebe and death in the same sentence. Phoebe and party. Phoebe and fun. Heck, even Phoebe and sex. But even the idea of the feisty, energetic woman he had grown to love as his own sister, laying somewhere, cold, unmoving, **dead** felt wrong.

But the Elders had confirmed it. And now the Power of Three had been broken again. And this time there was no hope at reconstituting it.

The thought scared him more than he could bear.

As he lay in bed, Piper's warm body seeking his own in her sleep as she dared not do when awake, he asked whomever may be listening if their life was cursed. How were they supposed to survive now? The Elders had assured him that now that the Power of Three was no longer an issue, demons and their brethren would not come for them as much. They had gone from being a huge mark on the demonic radar to barely a blip… why didn't he feel better, then? Why did he lay awake at night, listening to the sounds of the old house around them, and wondering if that creak, if that sigh was something more?

Ever since Melinda Warren had begun the long line of powerful witches, the Halliwell family had been burdened with pain and death. None of their women lived long, sometimes just enough to ensure the continuity of the bloodline and then died, taken early by evil. And the circle began anew each generation, unforgiving, unmerciful, never ending, never stopping.

What would become of the sisters? What would become of all of them? Of two powerful witches, who had broken every single rule in the Universe; of the tortured half-demon who had defied all the laws of Nature, and fallen for a witch; and of a whitelighter who dared fall in love and marry one of them?

He sighed and brushed some strands of Piper's hair away from her face. Even in sleep her face was tight, unseen tension keeping her from getting a good's night rest. Always the survivor, he thought, except for that day that never happened. What would he have done if Piper had been the one he had been unable to heal? What if it was Prue who had begged him to heal her sister and not the other way around?

He didn't remember much of that day; of the first time they fought Shax. Only glimpses and flashes, half-remembered dreams in the first moments of dawn. He remembered a hospital room, and Prue—Prue was always there. Covered in blood, her high-fashion clothes dripping with it. But none of it was hers, he knew, and Piper… Piper was just laying there, eyes closed and not moving.

She was with him now, nestled in the curve of his arm. And the fact, the certainty of how different things might have been chilled his heart. Phoebe had given up her freedom for her sisters to live. She had agreed to remain in the Underworld, knowing she could be dead come first morning just so Tempus would make the day start anew. For that, Leo would forever be grateful. It had been that sacrifice that had saved his wife, which had given them both a chance to go on.

But Phoebe was dead now… despite his best efforts, his younger charge was dead.

He remembered distinctively how Cole had brought a desperate Phoebe back to the manor, stopping only to look at Piper's sobbing form as Prue's body lay amidst the debris. He had shimmered away after that, intent on drawing the bounty hunters sent after him and Phoebe away from the Halliwells. He had done his job well—it was days before the next demon attacked, days before they heard from him again. He returned in time for the funeral, a haunted look in his eyes.

And now—now the manor lay in ruins once more, work to repair it well on its way but still far from complete. The earthquake had come swiftly, tearing at their lives like a bird of prey, slashing and clawing and breaking until everything but their bedrooms lay in waste.

It was strangely fitting, Leo thought, to have to rebuild their house as they now attempted to rebuild their lives.

* * *

. 

TBc...


	5. Acceptance

_** Change of Heart **_

Chapter 5: _Acceptance_

by Lilian.

lilian413 at yahoo dot com

Author's Notes: I'm placing _'Black as Cole'_ about a month after _'Enter the Demon'_. That would make Phoebe about a month into her pregnancy when this story started. So she'd be nearing three months in this chapter. Keep that in mind, okay?

To my wonderful readers: your beautiful reviews bring me immense joy every time I read them. If it hadn't been for your undying support, this story would have never seen the light of day again. So, to you, my friends. Because this is really **your** story as much as it is mine.

* * *

.

It had been two months already. Two months Paige would give anything to forget. Two months of questions, interrogations and intrusions—some friends of Phoebe's, seeing as she had missed some appointment or other, had called the police.

And the police had broken into a silent, recently re-built house.

A house where one of the occupants had been missing for a month and no missing person had been reported. Several walls had been remade, one of the members refused to give his name and papers and the neighbors kept telling strange stories about the house. Not four months ago, a young woman had died right there along with a prominent San Francisco doctor. And now, a member of the same family went missing?

All of this aroused suspicions. And how could they not? 1329 Prescott house had always been strange. There were police reports trailing back as much as twenty years, late night screaming, sudden power outages and blinking lights when there was nobody around... the manor had become a Halloween story for children.

_'Eat your dinner, or the witches across the street might come and get you.' _

How right they were. And at the same time, so wrong.

Piper and Cole were in no condition to answer the police's questions. That, of course, rendered them as suspects. Paige had to use most of her looks and pub-tricks to get officer Noisy's attention away from the fuming eldest sister. Piper had been **this** close to blowing him up. Leo had to physically restrain Cole to keep him from hurting a police officer.

Attracting attention to themselves was the last thing they needed right now.

Things were quieter these days, the initial shock already gone, leaving behind only suspicion and disbelief. The police had filed a report and Phoebe's name had been added to the thousands of others that remained as 'Unsolved Cases'.

Because, as far as the police knew, the girl was still alive.

They couldn't tell them they knew she was dead. That the Powers That Be had confirmed her gone and that Cole's blood shot eyes were not because of drugs, but because he cried himself to sleep every night, now could they?

_You see, officer, dead angels up in heaven confirmed our sister is dead. A high level demon killed her. You need more proof? Here, see these strange figures in this creepy-looking book? It means the Power of Three is gone so we are no longer powerful witches. More sugar in your tea?_

Phoebe's past helped settle the dust. She had a history. She had a record. Child delinquent, juvenile delinquent, and they traced her steps all the way back to New York, a city where they found several pending arrest orders with her name on them.

And they decided the girl had a million reasons to want to disappear.

Fools. They had no idea.

There had been no more calls for a week now. No more 'Ms. Halliwell has been seen' somewhere in the US. No more interviews about whether they believed their family to be cursed or not. No more reporters trying to get an exclusive with the family with the worst luck in all San Francisco.

And Paige was thankful.

Besides, there were other matters that demanded their undivided attention.

Like Leo's whacked out plan, for example. When he first brought up the idea, Paige had almost slapped him. How dare he say those things, when Phoebe's body was still cooling down somewhere?

But Leo had insisted. And after the first half an hour of discussion, the idea didn't seem so bad.

Paige had grown to like Phoebe. Her older sister had received her with open arms and a smile on her face. And they had gone through a lot together... they had switched bodies, for crying out loud! If that didn't bring two people together, Paige could think of nothing that would.

Phoebe was the older sister Paige had always wanted to have. Outgoing, carefree, ready to jump at anything that came their way—Paige really looked up to her. Sure, Piper was the oldest one and hence, the most serious... but Paige was still young, and she needed a friend more than a mentor.

So, when Leo had brought back the news of her demise, it was like she had lost a part of herself. Because with Prue—well, she had never really **met** her, she had just felt the loss through their blood. But Phoebe, Phoebe she had known and she had cared for, and she had loved...

And it hurt. It hurt more than she remembered.

That's why she had finally agreed with Leo's plan. To avenge her. To make whatever demon killed her, suffer.

Leo wanted to keep on fighting.

A few weeks after— after **it** had happened, Leo had called them all into the living room and made a proposition so bizarre it had blown them all away. Paige had just assumed that with Phoebe gone, their Charmed duty had gone out the window. The Elders had told them as much, deeming them as unimportant now that the Power of Three was no longer active. But Leo had suggested they go on, fighting in Phoebe's memory.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Cole's voice still retained some of its old quality, despite the low tones anger was forcing him to use. The richness that had made Paige's knees wobble when she first met him. She was certain she had never heard him curse before, but watching him pace back and forth across the living room, she could understand the need to.

"Cole, please, just listen to him."

They were two against two. Piper and Cole refused to even consider the idea. Paige and Leo had discussed it earlier and were trying to convince them now.

"I don't have to listen to anything. I will not fight. Period."

Piper didn't say anything, but her body language was screaming 'no'. Paige understood her reticence, her need to push that life away. It had already taken so much out of their family, and now she and Leo were asking them to waltz right back in.

"Think about all the innocents that still need protection", Paige tried again, knowing they were running out of arguments, and the opposing couple seemed no more convinced than when they had started.

"I'm a **demon,** Leo. Demons kill people. They don't save them."

Cole leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed against his chest, the very image of stubbornness. As he spoke, his voice laden with sarcasm, his eyes remained half-closed and narrowed, almost as if he was daring them to correct him. Why did he always have this **need** to remind them he was a demon? If anything, Paige would've thought he would want them to forget it. Strangely, it seemed Cole **wanted** them to remember…

Not for the first time, Paige wondered why he had stayed. Cole's interest in the Halliwell family was reduced to his affair with Phoebe… as far as she was concerned, Paige had never thought Cole was going to be a permanent addition to their family. Not because she doubted his love for Phoebe, but simple because she knew in her heart that their opposing natures would one day drive them apart. But after Phoebe's death, days had turned into weeks and Cole remained. Every morning he was there, drinking coffee as if he had always done it, and it was a puzzle that sometimes kept Paige awake at night.

What was keeping Cole with them? Some promise to a dead woman? Or did he really care about them? If only she could know for sure…

Her fears against his demonic side had subsided, chased away as Phoebe's sudden death demanded her immediate attention. By the time things had settled down and she was able to look back at the distrust she had felt against Cole, she realized it was no longer there. She had seen Cole shimmer towards her as the earthquake hit, trying to keep her and Piper out of harm's way. Demonic or not, he had saved her life and that meant she owed it to him to at least get to know him better before pushing him away.

Pulling one of her last tricks out of her sleeve, Paige said what they were all thinking: "Phoebe didn't believe that." She said the words and she meant them. And realized, with a start, that she was beginning to believe it as well.

Cole's reaction to Phoebe's name was pained to say the least. His whole body stiffened, his eyes shut close and his whole body seemed to fold in on itself. Her name had become both a prayer and a curse for him. Paige knew it. And she knew the best way to convince him was to make him realize this is what Phoebe would've wanted.

"Phoebe's **dead**, Paige. That was her reward for saving innocents. Death!"

Leo's hand on Paige's shoulder prevented her from shaking some sense into Cole. The whitelighter shook his head and she had to refrain herself, knowing by now that Leo understood and knew more things that he let anyone into.

"I think that what Paige's trying to say is that this is what Phoebe would've liked us to do."

Leo had seen where Paige was going. He also understood Cole's seemingly mean disposition towards her. Paige reminded him of Phoebe. More so than Piper ever would. The two youngest sisters were very much alike, as the two oldest once were.

That statement, with all the truth it carried, cut through Cole's misery and actually made sense. But the half-demon remained quiet, struggling with his pain. He wasn't sure if he was ready to alleviate others' as well.

"You really want to do this?"

It was the first time Piper had spoken, ever since they had gathered together. Leo noticed with a stab of jealousy that she seemed to hover near Cole, always within touching distance as if he was feeding her energy to stay upright. Or maybe he was feeding off of her, he corrected, watching as Cole leaned towards her as well. It was an unconscious gesture, but it was there. He pushed the jealous thoughts down and replied: "Yes."

Piper rubbed a hand across her forehead, her long hair falling down her back like a chocolate silk curtain. "Paige, you don't know what this means."

Leo could have resented that she addressed Paige instead of him, but he also understood why.

"I do. I really do. Now more than ever, actually."

Leo looked at Paige, really looked at her, and marveled at how very much she reminded him of Penny. She had that same fire, that same spark that pushed her to do more, to be better… and just like Penny had done in her time, she was trying to pick up the pieces left by a death in the family and restart their lives.

"Phoebe died fighting. Shouldn't we honor that sacrifice and continue fighting as well?"

Piper sighed deeply. There was a world of unsaid things in there, but with that out of the way, Piper seemed to be convinced.

"I'm in."

Paige's raised left eyebrow was prominent in the room. Probably a trait she inherited from Sam, since none of the Halliwells could do it. "You are?" Truth to be told, she had expected more of a fight. But she had underestimated Piper's sense of duty: she had carried the mantle for years; it was fairly simple to put it back on.

Leo's smile said 'thank you' in more ways than one. And it was then that Piper realized she had, once again, pushed him away. She really had to stop doing that... Leo was only the messenger. She had developed a nasty habit out of shooting him. She smiled back at him, hesitantly, unsure whether she was ready to be smiling again. Unsure whether she was supposed to be smiling again. As she slowly nodded, she vowed to herself that she would protect them with her life.

Protect all the family she had left.

"Fine, then. I'm in too."

Cole surprised Paige with that. They had given him the perfect way out: all he had to do was say no and they would let him leave, certain he would not return to his old ways. They would not hold a grudge either—what they were asking him to do was fight a war he had no part in.

But he didn't. He ignored the easy escape and instead plunged right back into the fray… Paige looked at him with curious eyes. What was it that kept him going? And why did he accept only when Piper had?

Paige need not ask herself that question. There was only one reason why Cole accepted.

Phoebe.

He had promised her he would watch over her sisters. Over her family. On one of the rare occasions in which her worries seemed to get the best out of her, Phoebe had made him promise he would take care of them. Because she understood Cole was immortal while she was not.

Sure, he had planned to remain as the strange, creepy uncle who sometimes came to visit. An ageless companion, watching over a family that would whisper his name in hushed tones and call him their guardian angel.

Demons were not without a sense of irony.

He had expected to return every year or so, to see how they were doing. It was strange how he, with his almost eternal life span, thought less about the future that Phoebe ever did. But he had expected that task to be delayed several decades, if he had anything to do with it.

He hadn't. Phoebe had been taken away from him, whisked out of his grasp in the dead of the night and killed. Killed. He understood death. He had killed many, back in the old days. Tortured several hundreds and enjoyed it. But he had never experienced this, this consuming, bottomless pit of pain. He didn't understand why it hurt so much. Was it worth loving her, knowing she would die long before he would? And not old and happy in her own bed as he had wished... but tortured and suffering God knows where?

Yes, it was. It was definitely worth it.

_It's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all._

Yeah, right. But nowhere in that saying did it explain how to deal with the consequences. How to pick up the pieces and move on.

Maybe this was his way out. Maybe this was how he could finally find redemption and meet her on the other side.

That's why he had accepted.

Because maybe, just maybe, this would earn him an eternity with her.

* * *

. 

She had lost track of time a long time ago. Her watch had stopped running the second she had been shimmered down here, human batteries were not made to handle the heavy amounts of energy running loose through the place.

But she was betting it had been like seven weeks. Give or take. Seven weeks, in which she had been learning, practicing, developing her newly acquired active powers.

Right now, they were back on the training field. Some absent part of her thought that it was probably an honor to have the Source himself training her. She had never pictured the hooded demon to be much of a mentor, but apparently, he was.

Phoebe was much stronger now. Ever since she bonded with the Source, the nausea had disappeared and the continuous feeling of weariness had vanished. She was back to her old self. Almost.

Her belly was beginning to swell. When she found herself alone – which was not very often – she would sit on the bed, in the room she had been given, and rub across her ever-expanding belly. The circular motions soothed her, as if by rubbing at her skin she could shed the tension away.

Prue's little body was growing inside of her, safe and sound with the Source's energy running through her. He had explained to her the side effects of their link, and the realization that if she had denied his request her daughter would have died had chilled Phoebe to the bone.

There was also a particularly interesting side effect as well: the Source could not touch her daughter until she was born. The very blood-link that kept them joined prevented the Source from reaching Prue inside Phoebe's womb. She was thankful for that. She would worry about the premonition she had when the time came.

"Focus, Phax."

She had chosen that name. Upon receiving the Source's blood she had denied her own name, for Phoebe Halliwell was dead. It was time for Phax to come forward. Phax… it was not hard to figure out where the name had come from. She borrowed the title of the demon she hated the most – beside the Source himself, of course – and mixed it with her own. That was how Phax had come to be born. Out of the ashes of a demon and a witch. Neither and none. She wasn't a witch turned into a demon. She wasn't a demon turned from a witch. She was different. She was a lost soul, seeking vengeance for what wrongs had been made upon her. Which, by the way, were too many to count.

A black fireball hit her square in the legs, throwing her off balance and onto the ground. It would hurt for the next few days... until her healing abilities kicked in and took care of it, that is.

"I said, **focus.**"

She rolled once she hit the ground and sprang back up on her feet. Which was getting harder as days went by and her gravity center shifted from her belly button down to her hips and upper legs.

"All right, all right. I hear you."

It was just her luck, working against her again. Not only was she being trained by the Source himself, but also she had to be pregnant during the whole thing!

"Do not be distracted. They will kill you if you hesitate."

She looked at him, knowing that he spoke the truth. How had he survived for so long, if not without extreme caution and care?

"Now, try again."

She breathed deeply as she tried to get her energy to coalesce in her hand.

Since the baby within her was still growing, it would be dangerous for her to try teleportation magic. Broken molecules and all. So, the Source had decided to teach her fireballs, instead.

Not that he had much luck at it, but still.

She closed her eyes and stretched out her hand.

"Open your eyes. What is the use of firing energy balls if you can not see your enemy?"

Anger blossomed within her. She seemed to be particularly short of temper, these past few days… was it her pregnancy or the blood sharing with the Source? Who knew, and truth to be told, who cared. Anger was an easy way to connect with her new powers: it could quickly be turned into something else.

"Cut me some slack, would you? I'm new at this!"

The Source shimmered, reappearing within inches of her, towering over her like a dark shadow of doom. Which he actually was, but that is beside the point.

"I will not have you slipping. My personal assassin must be deadly and accurate. At this point, you are neither."

Phoebe's lips tightened into one thin, taut line, and her eyes flared up... yes, she was supposed to be filling in the shoes of Shax himself. The ruler of the Underworld needed a personal assassin, and since Phoebe had disposed of Shax, who better to replace him?

"We began practicing this today! I've just had a few hours to try and master a technique that takes others years to learn! How in the name of God do you expect me to summon a stupid fireball just like THAT?"

Her last word was accentuated with a loud crash on the other side of the room as a fireball exploded against the furthest wall. Phoebe shrieked at the sound of it, surprised. Only then did she realize the Source hadn't moved. And that the same hand she had stretched out earlier was now pointing at the very same wall that had been hit.

Amazed, she brought her hand back and examined her fingers. Not a burn, not a scratch.

"I sense great power in you, Phax. Do not waste it in lame excuses like that."

Lame? Lame? She had just fired a fireball, for Goddess sake! She, who had never had an active power before, had thrown a fireball! With actual fire!

Ecstatic, her eyes glowing in the dark like embers in a dying fire, she smiled.

"Again."

Phoebe only nodded this time, not daring to cross him again. She focused and stretched her fingers, creating a vortex in between her fingers. Like he had taught her, she slowly let it gather, letting it flow through her, summoning the energy that lay dormant around her...

There was a little spark that went off right above her palm. A cattish grin danced through her lips, as it grew and gained strength.

"Another one."

Slowly, never once looking away from her right hand, she raised her left one. And repeated the process. It was slower this time, both from the concentration the first one demanded and the fact that she was right handed. Her left side had always been sloppier.

But in the end, she did it anyway. The satisfaction was enormous as she slowly handled them, still afraid of getting burnt. Fire was not to be meddled with lightly. She had learnt that much the first few hundred times. Her combusted hair was all the proof she needed.

She had wanted to cut it, anyway.

"Mix them."

She had almost forgotten he was around... it was fairly easy to get lost within the flames. Creating fire out of nothing was an incredible feeling: she could drown in the blaze she had created with her hands.

Eyes shinning with the fireballs in her hands, she brought them together. They sizzled as they made contact, and seemed resistant. As polar opposites of a magnet, refusing to merge. She pushed on, forcing them to mix.

The blast hit her right on the chest.

When the two fireballs came in contact they exploded in a bright flash of light. The smell of burnt skin reached her nostrils and it was only when she looked down that she realized it was her own. Luckily, since she had burnt her clothing a long time ago she had been given some demonic uniform. It was flame resistant.

Her fingers ached and stung—the palms and fingertips burnt. It wasn't fatal, but it would hurt like hell for days. No healing factor could cure this fast enough.

"Never mix right and left. Throw one and then the other. Or this will happen."

She looked up to the Source, who stood on the far side of the room. Now that she thought of it, she had never seen him sitting, or leaning on anything-- didn't he get backaches?

"Couldn't have told me sooner?"

Even from across the room, she heard his chuckle. "What would be the fun, then?"

She made a face at him and stood up. Strangely, none of her injuries were located around her midsection. She blamed it on him. Probably put a protection spell or something around her belly. Good.

Little Prue was safe. Safe from her mistakes.

"Ready for more?"

She knew better than to ask for a time out. Cole hadn't given her one. Neither would the Source. Or any other enemy she would ever face, for that matter. Demons took training as seriously as they did real fighting—probably why they lived so long.

She took a deep breath, and nodded.

And she went on practicing. Learning.

Improving.

She would need it for when the time came.

* * *

Tbc... 


	6. Remembering

_** Change of Heart **_

Chapter 6: _Remembering_

by Lilian

lilian413 at yahoo dot com

**Author's Notes:** Wow, Saturday sure got here fast! I'd better catch up with you guys, or soon it will have to be a new chapter every _other_ weekend! 

And remember, this is the same CoH: I haven't changed the storyline, I've just added scenes here and deleted some there. So don't expect Prue to suddenly become Paige's daughter or for Cole to take up a career in can-can dancing: although I **do** have some curveballs heading your way in later chapters:-)

* * *

. 

"Are you sure about this?"

It was a dark night, the moon hiding behind the heavy winter clouds. A young woman walked down a darkened alley, her stance certain and strong. By her side stood a tall, handsome man, whose shadow cast long shapes along the sidewalls.

It was late. It was dangerous.

So were they.

"I'm sure. Piper scried, and it kept coming back to this place."

"But there's nothing here!"

Paige tried to rein in her impatience. If the scrying pendant said there was a demon in this alley, then there most certainly was a demon in this alley. Unless it teleported away before they got there. Or they had gotten the wrong alley. Or—

"Let's go over it one more time."

Cole kept an eye on her as they walked through the empty back street. He knew there was something there—could feel the demonic scent in the air. He just couldn't see it yet. Perhaps if Paige continued her diatribe, the demon would be confident enough to step off the shadows and confront them.

"But we've gone over for like four times already! I'm cold, I'm hungry and I need a bath!"

Paige's whitelighter half could feel the presence of evil. Not that she could make a difference between that particular feeling and cramps, but hey, her period wasn't due for another two weeks, so it was probably safe to say the ache in her lower belly was actually demonic-related. Still, it irked her that her own body knew things her mind could not yet truly understand. That something so basic, so primal lived within her without her knowledge. It scared her and when she was scared, she lashed out; hence her intent to try and get under Cole's skin. Sadly, Cole seemed pretty impervious to her attempts at getting him angry, almost as if he had already gone down this path before.

How close she was, Paige would never know: Cole had forgotten the number of times he had done this exact same thing with Phoebe. And he knew all about the younger Halliwells' need to pacify their inner demons, just as much as they needed to vanquish the real live ones around.

"I'll agree with you on that last thing", he told her, wrinkling his nose as if he could, in fact, smell her. Anger defused almost instantly as Paige squeaked indignantly.

"You demons and your super-senses", she said, and realized with a start that she didn't mind. Not the smelling, of course, but the demon part. Stopping in her tracks, Paige watched Cole step further into the alley, body covered in black clothes. Why did she suddenly feel as if there should be black wings sprouting off his back?

What did humans see when they looked at him? Could they see the demon lurking behind his eyes? She seriously doubted it. After all, Piper had told her once that it was Cole's half-human status that had made him the perfect weapon for the Source send against them. He could blend into the crowds with ease, but still, there was always something about him that set him apart. His eyes were too bright, his smile to broad.

And his tears too bitter, Paige mused, remembering the many nights she had heard him through the closed door of Phoe—his room. It tore at her heart, to listen to his pain; she had felt like an intruder, trespassing on something she was not meant to see. But she hadn't been able to move away, either…

She shook her head. Now was not the time to be reminiscing, she told herself, trying to make a humanoid shape out amidst the shadows of the alley. Her eyes were not as keen as Cole's, but she had better instinct when it came to spotting a demon. It was in her blood, after all.

Ever since they had accepted Leo's plan, they had been fighting evil; two witches, a demon and a whitelighter against the hundreds of demons living San Francisco. The odds would be against them has they not found that the demonic population seemed to be downsizing with dizzying speed. There was either an internal purge going on or the Source had ordered them to lay low, low enough that they no longer showed up in their scrying sessions. Which was why, when earlier that night Piper got a hit on the corner of Aguello and Corbet Street, Paige and Cole were out the door faster than you could say 'warts'.

Paige shivered, wondering if the crisp, chilly night was getting to her. Or maybe it was something else, she realized, catching a glimpse of something that looked suspiciously like blood on the wall to her left. They had been doing surprisingly well without the Elders' guidance so far, she mused, turning purposely **away** from the stains and walking faster into the alley, wondering just where the hell had Cole gone. She couldn't see really well in the dark and he was wearing black—it was easy for him to blend into the shadows.

She opened her mouth to call out his name when a hand shot out of the darkness and covered her lips. She fought it for just a moment before familiar blue eyes beckoned her to stand still. "Goddess, Cole", she angrily whispered to him as he drew her closer towards the wall, half-covering her with his body, "you scared the shit out of me!"

Cole said nothing. As a matter of fact, he wasn't even looking at her… his eyes were lost in the impenetrable darkness that lay further down the alley, and for the first time Paige realized that there was no natural way the alley could be this long and this dark. And now that she tried, she couldn't hear the sounds of the street any more—had some unsuspecting victim taken a shortcut home and entered this demonic lair without knowing it?

There was a tightness to Cole's face, an invisible tension that made his cheekbones stand out even more. Paige had the sudden urge to lick them, and chastised herself for letting her continuous dry spell get to her in moments such as these. Trying to push him away, she found out he was not going to move. In fact, he seemed to press down even further, almost as if—hiding her?

And then she saw it.

It coiled and churned into the darkness, a patch of black that stood out even among the shadows. She thought she caught a glimpse of red eyes but couldn't really say, because Cole chose that moment to summon an energy ball and fry the thing to oblivion. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the air around them and Paige fought the urge to gag, the stench getting everywhere.

_Well, there goes this outfit_, she thought sadly, breathing a little easier now that Cole has moving back into his own personal space. "What **was** that thing?" she asked, wondering if lemons could get the putrid smell out of her hair. Because there was no way she was cutting it, she decided, fingering the long black locks with trembling fingers… she knew perfectly well what the demon was. She had seen it in the Book of Shadows, after she has resumed studying it with newfound zeal. Phoebe's death had a profound effect on Paige, even more than she realized. She poured herself into her work, letting spells and charms and demonic facts fill her head until at night, she would dream of reading the Book. It had come in handy more time that she cared to remember, but right now, her own voice was the only thing that kept the nausea at bay so she asked anyway.

"Soul Eater", came Cole's curt reply as he moved further into the alley, up to the spot where the thing had been. That's when Paige realized the shadows had not parted, she still couldn't hear the busy street behind them and oh my Goddess—"Cole, watch out!"

Her cry came just in time. With ease born out of years of training, Cole shimmered out of the way of the incoming Soul Eater, disappearing from its path and letting it harmlessly bounce of a dumpster. Cole reappeared beside her and Paige already had the potion out. Throwing it towards the mass of smoke and shadows that was the demon of the day, Paige closed her eyes at the blast that followed. There was an unholy scream and a faint smell of sulphur wafted close, and it was only when she caught the strong smell of cologne that she realized Cole had protected her from the explosion with his body, holding her close to his chest.

"If you wanted to cop a feel, all you had to do was ask."

The taunt was already out by the time she actually processed the words. Her eyes rose to catch Cole's, and in them she saw his emotions displayed: naked, raw pain swam up like a snarling beast, clawing and hacking until Paige was forced to take a step back just to avoid screaming.

She opened her mouth to apologize when her stomach decided it had had enough and turned in her belly. Retching behind some boxes, she felt rather than saw Cole make sure the thing was gone.

It was. She was sure of it. Her whitelighter senses were quiet, the howl of danger decreasing to a hum in the back of her mind. Bracing herself against the wall, Paige steeled herself and turned, noticing that the bile in her throat tasted bitter, but not as bitter as the knowledge that he had hurt Cole with her careless pick-up line.

"Cole, I—" she began, holding a hand to her still rumbling belly and another to the back of her neck, needing the touch of her own skin. He stopped her with a raised hand.

"Don't", was all he said, and Paige saw a ghost of a smile dance across his lips. It evoked a similar response in her, and when he handed her a handkerchief, she knew they had made some sort of progress.

"This is the last time I let you kill demons for me", she said, wishing she had some menthol to brush the aftertaste from her mouth and thanking him for the handkerchief. Cole shrugged his shoulders, smiling openly now, and Paige decided it was a good look on him.

"It teleported out half-way. That's why we could smell it burning the first time."

"Yeah, yeah. Still, you owe me one now. Saved you from—what was it again?"

Cole sighed. "Soul Eater."

Paige nodded, knowing the answer all along. "Yeah, that. So, should we head back?"

He took a look around the alley, noticeably several shades lighter. And, Paige thought with pleasure, full of the common sounds of the noisy streets around. Now it was just a normal – albeit smelly – alley. Realizing her stomach had still not settled down and feeling the impending threat of another bout of throwing-up, she just turned on her heels, hoping he would follow.

He did.

For four—no, make those **five** months they had all walked on eggshells around each other. Today had been the first time she had breached that unspoken rule and, surprisingly, had not gotten burned in the process. Did that mean they were on their way to healing the bleeding wound of Phoebe's death?

Perhaps they were. Because as they reached the car and Paige clicked the button to unlock the doors, she found a full-fledged smile dancing from her lips. Looking up at Cole across the top of the jeep, she saw a similar one on his face.

When you are able to smile again, that is when you begin to heal.

* * *

. 

She groaned as her body slumped against a wall; sweat matting her forehead and a frown clouding her beautiful face. She was six months along now and Prue wasn't getting any lighter. Her belly was prominent these days, making it hard to move around as she wished. Thank God the nausea was gone—she had heard frightening stories about morning sickness, and she just thanked whoever was listening that it was gone.

Fingernails curling against the rocks at her back, Phoebe bared her teeth in anger and wished she had more control over her fireballs. That way, maybe she could have blown Jhiera back to whatever hell she had crawled out of and the bitchy she-demon would finally leave her alone.

Why did Jhiera find her so damn amusing was beyond Phoebe's understanding. But the female demon had taken it upon herself to make her stay in the Underworld as uncomfortable as possible. Ever since rumor had spread that the Source had turned one of the Charmed Ones and had taken her under his protection, the demon world had been a buzz. All the upper class demons rebelled against the very idea of having her down here. When the first three of them who dared question the Source's actions were killed without an afterthought, they re-thought their approach and began attacking **her **instead.

"Morning sickness, dear?"

Phoebe bit back the urge to spit in Jhiera's face. That would only anger her further, and the beautiful demon seemed to carry a lot of anger around. "None of your business, _darling_."

She stressed the pet name, putting all her hate towards Jhiera in that simple word. "Oh but it is, my dear. Belthazor and I were very close once."

His name was still like a thorn in her side. It haunted her through the empty corridors, echoing in the walls, whispered in her ear by invisible ghosts she did not want to listen to. There was not a single demon in the Underworld who did not know her history with Belthazor. He had been a legend, after all—the witch who had turned him had her own personal legend as well. And she was one of them now, or so the Source said. Many a demon had wanted to prove that; Phoebe had lost count of how many corpses were now dust covering the floor of the Source's throne room because of her.

"And?" she asked, wishing she wouldn't have to hear what came next. Because she could guess, judging by the gleeful glint in Jhiera's eyes.

"More than close. We were intimate. For over a decade we shared beds, bodies and breath."

Her heart ached at the thought. But then she pictured the kiss, and wondered if he hadn't shared Jhiera's bed while he was with her as well. No, it couldn't be: Jhiera would not be as jealous if Cole were still coming to her. But the fact remained that he had once touched that olive skin, kissed those ruby lips—her own jealously surged forward with a strength that left her dazzled in its wake. Something must have shown in her eyes, a speckle of the anger she felt boiling within, because next thing she knew Jhiera had her by the neck and was squeezing down.

Long fingers wrapped around the delicate flesh of Phoebe's throat and they were warm as they squeezed the air out of her lungs. Phoebe gasped and wheezed, clawing at Jhiera's arms in a weak attempt to break free.

"It's his brat you carry, is it not? I should kill you were you stand."

Jhiera's voice was deep, that tone that promises your heart's desire if you would only surrender to her now. Or maybe it was the lack of oxygen that made Phoebe think so, it was really hard to tell.

As Jhiera's other hand made its way across her swollen belly, Phoebe felt the stirrings of magic as her baby recognized a threat. Jhiera felt it too, and her eyes widened as she sampled a taste of the power coming from Prue. "Beautiful", Phoebe thought she heard her say and suddenly the pressure of Jhiera's hand on her throat was too much.

"Let. Me. Go."

Jhiera's purple eyes shone in the darkness with a light of their own. Phoebe found herself staring into those eyes, spun amethysts burning away in a starless sky, and saw a hatred so deep it made a shiver run down her spine.

"Make me. I will kill you, witch. Dispose of your body into the pits of Hell, and he will never know."

Phoebe knew the only reason she was still alive was because the Source had promised painful death to any who dared touch her. But, as she had come to learn, demons took threats to the word. They could not touch her, but they could – and did – hurt her. She had lost count of the times she had been forced to fight for her life, harnessing the power she was beginning to develop to the point where her fingers ached and stung. More often than not, the attempts on her life were not serious: as much as they hated her, demons were not stupid enough to defy the Source's direct command and outright kill her.

But, of all the demons who had made it a pastime to torture her, Jhiera was the one who had taken it to heart. Phoebe knew it was dangerous for her to be walking around the Underworld alone, but as she grew bigger, her training sessions grew scarcer and her room was always too small, too dark—she needed to get out, and if by doing so she risked her life, well, that was just her luck.

"My name—is Phax."

Jhiera's smile turned wider. The she-demon knew, and had not used her new name on purpose. It was a small offense compared to the things Phoebe had been forced to endure – she was still healing from the broken arm from last week – but it was somehow the one that stung the most. That other demons refused to see her as one of their own, that no matter how hard she tried to prove herself to them they always thought of her as a human made her stomach drop. Would her life always be like this? Always having to prove her worth?

_Never enough, Phoebe. You are never enough. _

The voice was familiar, deeply so: it took her a few seconds to realize it was her own.

Blackness began creeping at the edges of her vision and soon, Jhiera's eyes were the only thing Phoebe could really see. A stray thought sprung forth, and she wondered what the Source would think when they found her body laying there, life squeezed out of her like juice out of a ripe fruit.

Wouldn't like it one bit, the bastard.

At that point, Jhiera gasped loudly and shimmered away. Phoebe slumped onto the ground, her hand flying to her neck as she took in big gulps of air. She gasped and heaved, her body demanding oxygen, and that was how the Source's personal guard found her when he flamed in. And she understood why Jhiera had teleported away.

Sure, Jhiera hated her. But she didn't hate her enough to die for her.

"Come", was all the bodyguard said, his black skin like black pearls, reflecting off that dim light that permeated the Underworld until it made him looked darker than he really was. Phoebe did not know his name, and she wasn't sure he even had one: he was just Darkness, personal bodyguard to the Source himself.

She nodded, trying to rise from the ground, not quite making it. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest and her lungs burnt at the sudden burst of air, and she realized Darkness had already left.

As she made her way through the empty corridors, following the bodyguard's silent back, she vowed to herself that she would be stronger.

She vowed that no other would ever lay a hand on her.

What use would she be, if common demons like Jhiera could defeat her so easily? She needed to be stronger, more powerful—because when she faced Cole, her body and her mind would need to be as cold as ice and as unyielding as stone.

* * *

. 

When Piper was twelve, she had a garden gnome. It was small, cute and very well designed, at least to her inexperienced young eyes. Educated people barely looked at it, deeming it unworthy of their attention. But she liked it anyway and named it Mr. Pointy Hat; because it had the cutest hat you would ever see on a garden gnome. Red, shiny and pointy and a little to the side, as if telling whoever could be watching that the head under it was a real roller coaster.

Piper loved that garden gnome. She really did.

She cleaned it every Sunday, sweeping the dead leaves away from it, polishing it with a wet cloth and singing it songs that stuck in her head.

They were good friends, she and Mr. Pointy Hat. Until Prue had ran it over with Gram's car.

Mr. Pointy Hat was reduced to pieces. Plaster pebbles, spread over the front yard. She hadn't spoken to Prue for weeks after that. She had tried to put it back together, using all the kind of glues her mind could fathom... but the result was never perfect. His features were forever marred, scars running up and down his body. She had fought, trying to keep him, trying to mend him... but she learned some things were not meant to last.

But she still cried the day the garbage truck took it away.

She felt like Mr. Pointy Hat right now. Broken. Bleeding. Finished.

And yet, still fighting.

Still trying to make sense of a world that was not meant to be understood.

"We need to know what's going on down there."

It was the second time Piper had said those words. And just like the first, all the answers she got were empty stares and questioning eyebrows. "You know Cole is no longer welcome. If he shimmers down there, he will surely be killed. Remember what happened last time?"

Piper knew that. She knew that perfectly well, because she had been the one to clean Cole's wounds when he came home that night, injured in a fight against some bounty hunters who had picked up his trail. She also understood Cole was being hunted down now more than ever, the reward on his head growing bigger with each day that went by. But she really needed to know what the Source was up to.

There had been no more attacks; no more surprise hit men trying to get them. It was as if with Phoebe's death, the Source had decided they were no longer a threat and stopped caring about them all together. And it worried her. Since Prue's departure, she had taken it upon herself to protect her family. But how could she protect them when the enemy was nowhere in sight?

The last demon they had vanquished, while flames licked his body and ate away his flesh, had screamed something that still rang in her ears. And the worst thing was, it rang true.

_"Your time is coming, witches. She will kill you." _

She had absolutely no idea who **she** could be. But that spider sense that came with the Halliwell name was going off, telling her she needed to look into that further. However, neither Paige nor Cole nor Leo were feeling the same thing, and they were beginning to worry. Piper could tell by the way they talked to her, careful and slow, the way you talk to a dangerous animal.

She was certain, however, that this lack of demonic activity was only the lull before the storm hits. She knew without a doubt that they were being spied on. And despite the fact that Cole had been unable to pick up any demonic activity in the house, Piper no longer felt safe at the Manor. At night, without sunlight to color the house, Piper felt—watched. As if there were eyes on the walls, hidden behind paintings and lamps and wallpaper, on every room and every corner, watching her move about. She had lain awake many a night, listening to the house creak and moan around her, and wondered if it was more than just wood settling in the heat of the summer.

"Demons lie, Piper. Maybe what he said wasn't true."

Cole was seated on the sofa, and his long body was draped across the cushions almost as if he couldn't bear to be standing up a moment longer. The past few months had taken their toll on him, Piper could tell. There were shadows in his eyes, a tightness around his mouth that never really seemed to fade. But there he was, with them, and Piper couldn't really say what her life would be like if he wasn't there.

He was looking at her, his blue eyes looking almost green with the shirt he wore. It was always intriguing to watch; the ways his eyes would change color almost at will depending on the clothing he chose.

"Still—" she began, fighting a loosing battle against herself. Why couldn't she let it go? Why couldn't she just let it **go**?

Cole spoke slowly, resignation coloring his every word: "I could go down there and see if I can find anything."

Panic rose within her chest like a living thing. Before she knew it, she was sitting beside him and placing a hand on his arm, almost as if to anchor him to the couch. "No. You'll stay right where you are, mister."

Her remark was loud and clear around the usually silent room. Come to think of it, ever since Phoebe's death, they had begun talking in whispers. Quiet, hushed—as if afraid to disturb the air around them. Piper's words had been light, almost teasing… Cole did not need to look at her to see the truth: that she was afraid, deadly afraid and there was nothing they could say that would make it better.

By the fireplace, Leo and Paige looked at the two of them, something resembling envy in their eyes. They said nothing but moved almost as one, bumping into each other in the process as they tried to move closer to Piper and Cole. But Piper raised a hand, and they realized Cole had closed his eyes. Was he asleep? It was hard to tell. His breathing hadn't changed and his posture hadn't relaxed, but had any of them ever seen him sleep?

"Could you guys give us a moment?"

Piper spoke in hushed tones, but if because she thought Cole was taking a nap or because she couldn't bring herself to talk any louder, they couldn't say. So instead, Paige just nodded and dragged a reluctant Leo into the kitchen.

Leo said nothing – it was not in his nature to do so – and just slumped into a stool by the kitchen table, clutching his head in his hands. Paige knew what was wrong: she would have had to be blind not to see it. Ever since the day Leo had come back from Heaven bringing the news of Phoebe's demise, Paige had watched as Piper pushed him away and then called him back. It was sick game, one Paige wasn't certain Piper knew she was playing. But how many nights had Paige come down in the middle of the night to find Leo sleeping on the couch? She had lost count. But she had also watched, with some apprehension, as Piper and Cole drifted closer and closer. It was almost as if Piper needed to fill that empty Leo-shaped space, and she clung to whomever was near.

Pain calls for pain. And those two were like magnets to each other. Not in a romantic way, but more in the terms of partners in disgrace. Paige understood that. Once the natural protectiveness of a sister had blown over, she realized Cole was no longer a danger but a powerful ally and a trusted friend.

"Leo", she began, trying to find the words to say what she wanted to say, "Don't let it get to you."

No sound came from the living room, and Paige realized both she and Leo were straining to hear what was going on two rooms down. It was wrong, they knew it, but they also couldn't help but feel excluded at the same time. Phoebe had been a dear friend and a dear sister to them as well—what gave Piper and Cole the right to keep them out of their little grieving circle?

Paige shook her head. Now was not the time for childish pettishness. Different people mourned in different ways—it just happened to be that Piper and Cole had bonded over Phoebe's death in a way that made her a little bit jealous.

"I know that, Paige. I've known that for a long time."

It surprised her to hear the amount of resentment in Leo's voice. It was thick with it, so much so that it seemed to be about two octaves lower than it usually was. She sat in the stool opposite of where he sat, trying to look into his eyes. He avoided her gaze, pretending to be deeply interested in the wooden spoon laying a few inches to his left.

"You have to understand, she's just reaching out."

It was strange having to defend Piper to her own husband – shouldn't **Piper** be sitting here, having this discussion with Leo? – but she did it anyway. It was what sisters did, she told herself, knowing Piper was nowhere near ready to face her inner demons just yet. Probably why she kept saying there were demons in the house…

Leo shook his head, brushing a hand across his sand-colored hair. "Why can't she reach out to **me**, then?"

What should have come out as a whiny, egotistical statement actually managed to break Paige's heart. And this time she didn't stop herself and taking Leo's hand in hers, gave it a friendly squeeze. "Because some part of her, some part she's not even aware of, blames you for this."

It was as if her words had struck Leo physically. He removed his hand from hers as if burnt, and his wild eyes met hers across the kitchen table. Before he could express his indignation, Paige raised a hand – in a gesture so similar to the one Piper had made just a few minutes ago that the family resemblance was uncanny – and continued: "Bear with me here. You brought home the news of Phoebe's death. Remember how she would cry herself to sleep when Prue died? Blaming herself for you healing her first instead of Prue? It's the same thing now."

Paige was witness to the struggle within Leo's mind: if there was anyone whose eyes were windows to his soul, it was Leo. She saw him fighting his jealousy, his anger, everything that made him human and that, as a whitelighter, had been forced to push down time and time again. She saw a husband watching his wife drift away, powerless to do anything, into the arms of another man.

"You know it's not love. At least not in the way you think it is."

It felt so very strange saying these things to Leo… he was many years her senior – everyone at the house had heard the stories of his time as a hippie – and usually, it was the other way around: Leo was the one giving **them** advice. He was their whitelighter and more than that, her friend. But now the roles were reversed and Paige was the one giving Leo insight into what was going on. Perhaps that saying was true, Paige thought, that you cannot see the forest because of the trees. She sought Leo's hands again and this time, he didn't move away,

"She needs to hold on to something and Cole is in just as much pain as she is right now. She's pushed you away and now needs support, Leo."

Before Leo could say anything, a cry came from the living room, Piper's voice high and quivering: "Why? Why did she have to die!"

Leo rose, ready to go to his wife, but Paige held him back. She shook her head, surprised at the contained strength in Leo's body as he remained taut and ready to bolt the second Paige loosened her grasp. "Don't. You'll only push her further away."

Something in the way she said it must have struck a chord in him, because he relaxed, letting all that energy leave his body. But he didn't sit back down. Instead, he remained standing by the table, arms crossed over his chest and a sudden understanding in his blue eyes.

It was as if all that anger, all that jealousy had fled from his mind. It is wake, only love remained.

Paige just wished she could do that as well.

* * *

. 

Cole opened his eyes as soon as Leo's footsteps faded into the background, so when Piper turned to look back at him, her eyes clashed with his own.

They remained in silence for a long while, not quite looking at each other and yet still so very aware of the other's presence in the living room. They were less than three feet apart, so when Cole rose from the couch and strode towards the window, Piper caught a whiff of his cologne. It sparked feelings inside of her, feelings very similar to the ones inspired by the sight of her mother's picture or Gran's kilt at the foot of her bed.

They had never really talked about what had happened in Phoebe's room. Truth to be told, Piper didn't quite remember it, the pain still clouding her memories of the first days after Phoebe's death. But what she did remember was that Cole had been there for her. And also a nagging sense that there were some unresolved issues between them that if not dealt with now, would grow slowly, mounting off into something they did not want.

But she wasn't ready yet. It would be too blunt to bring it up like that, out of the blue.

"You know I won't let you go", she said, picking up the conversation where they had left off. It was easy, to fall into this pre-existent dialogue, and perhaps that was the way to broach the subject she **really** wanted to talk about.

His eyes were fixed on the window, watching absently as the soft breeze blew the curtains back and forth and the sun shone through the open glass. "I know." His voice was—defeated. Almost as if he was just playing along to humor her. Perhaps he was, Piper mused, or perhaps he just couldn't bring himself to care any more.

Piper found herself speaking before she could really weight her own words: "Then why do you insist?" She realized she needed to know; she needed to know why he stuck around. What was it about them that kept Cole grounded?

"Because I have to."

She sighed and ran a nervous hand through her long ponytail. That was not the answer she was looking for. "No you don't."

That got her a reaction. His eyes snapped open and drew her in, the fiery depths of blue-green burning her even from across the room. "Yes I do." She remained rooted on the spot, caught like a deer under the light of the oncoming train, unable to look away. He wasn't finished, she could tell. Something else wanted to come out, there was another reason all together—

"I promised her I would keep you safe."

And many things made sense, because Piper suddenly understood the driving force behind Cole's almost fatherly concern. The twinge of disappointment stung, a razor-sharp pain that burned on the edge of her tongue.

Prue had always looked after then. Prue had kept them safe. She sometimes forgot Phoebe worried as well. The idea that Phoebe had seen this coming, had known Cole would outlive her and took the safekeeping of her family into her own, young hands, suddenly became too much. Her eyes welled up as they hadn't done in months, because her little sister, her little baby sister—Goddess, it still hurt!

She covered her face with her hands, trying to keep the sobbing from rocking her thin frame. "Why? Why did she have to die?" She didn't know who she was talking about: Prue or Phoebe. Perhaps both, or perhaps neither. How many women had her family sacrificed for the greater good? Her mother, her grandmother, both her sisters… why did **any** of them had to die?

Only when she felt Cole's warmth radiating from his body, only then did she realize he had approached her. His strong arms came around her waist and _déjà vu _washed all over her. She let the tears out and slammed her fists against his chest, as angry as she was sad.

"I can't answer that."

Her crying didn't last long. She had few tears left and they dried out quite quickly. She remained there though, within his arms, breathing heavily. Silence settled upon the room, as Witch and Demon brought down their carefully built walls and shared the pain of loosing a loved one. Because they each had loved her, in different ways, with different intensity—but loved her still.

As a sister. As a soul mate.

As the wonderful person she had been and how much the world had lost when she died.

"Piper—do you—do you remember what happened that day?" Cole's voice trembled slightly, the feeling of loss fresh and anew, as if it had happened only yesterday and not six months ago. She took her time to answer.

"Just—just flashes."

He sighed loudly, his chest rising and falling under her cheek. "Because I—I want you to know I don't regret it."

Piper looked up at him, drawn by the gentle trembling in his words. She stared deep into his eyes, swimming across the storms that brewed within and **looked**— it all came back to her like a dream, like a long lost memory, rising through her own confusion, trough her own pain—it came out in a rush and she panted at the sheer force of remembrance.

She remembered his lips, strong and passionate, above her own. She remembered his powerful body next to hers, keeping her close, keeping her steady. She remembered his scent, around her, inside her…

She remembered kissing him.

A faint blush crept upon her cheeks as she realized she had just remembered her first and only slip in her marriage to Leo. But had it really being cheating? She had been thinking about him the whole time—had tried to feel Leo's skin under her fingers, Leo's lips under her own, Leo's support holding her up...

"I don't regret it either", she found herself saying, cupping his face in her hands and placing a tender, innocent kiss on his cheek. He let her do it, not moving away but not moving closer either. She understood why—he had carried that weight, that burden for the both of them. Now, after sharing it with her again, he didn't know what to do. She sometimes forgot Cole had been raised in a demonic world, where there was no place for emotions as strong as these. It was only natural that he was uncertain as to what to do with them—he had suppressed them for so long he couldn't really deal with them anymore.

"But I still love Ph—" he paused, took a deep breath and then continued, "I still love her."

She smiled slowly, knowing how hard it was for him to admit it.

"I know. And I still love him."

His eyes seemed to clear out, the weight of the secret he had been carrying around for months finally out. Who knew what thoughts had gone through Cole's mind during that time? Whatever the case, they were no longer an issue, Piper thought, watching as Cole returned her grin with one of his own.

It was then that they finally became a family. When all feelings were sorted out and all secrets were exposed that the last of the barriers keeping them apart fell down and allowed them to come together.

"Piper?" She loved the way he said her name. It was the way a brother would say it, and she had only had sisters until then…

"Yes?"

"I didn't give you a complete answer before."

He seemed suddenly bashful, almost ashamed. She said nothing, knowing that sometimes, things need to come out on their own: "My promise to her is not the only reason I stuck around."

She paused, blinked and had to ask: "It isn't?"

Cole shook his head. He seemed to struggle to find the words, almost as if he didn't know what he was going to say, but Piper knew that was not the case. It was just that he was fighting years of programming, forcing his human side out to merge with the demonic side he was more comfortable with.

"You—I don't—I don't want anything happening to you. Or your family."

That warm, tingly feeling right there? It made Piper's smile turn even wider and this time, she was one doing the hugging. "It's your family too, silly demon", she whispered against his shirt and she was certain he heard her anyway. When he returned the hug, it was with everything he had and just for a moment there, Piper wondered about what it must be like to be on the opposite side of such a powerful, passionate man. But then her curiosity faded as Leo's face came to her and she realized she had a lot to make up for.

"We should go get them."

"Yeah, we should. Leo's probably thinking I'm having an affair with you."

They both grinned at that and they broke apart.

And still in an intangible, invisible sort of way, they stayed together.

Linked.

Powerful.

_'United we stand, divided we fall'_

_.

* * *

. _

Tbc...


	7. Birth

_** Change of Heart **_

Chapter 7: _Birth_.

by Lilian

lilian413 at yahoo dot com

Author's Note: So, I guess all of you know what's happening in this chapter, right? Guess again, dear readers. Mine is an evil mind. :p

This is the chapter that suffered the most changes—you'll realize a lot of things have changed, and yet others have remained almost exactly the same. I'm particularly proud of how these next scenes turned out. Let's see if you share the same opinion!

Again, your reviews make me feel so good… they're like hot chocolate in a frosty winter night (if I liked chocolate, that is. Hmm, that doesn't work. Coffee, then. Hot coffee on a frosty winter night), making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. –hugs you all-

ETA: fanfiction-net is the spawn of hell. I've been trying to upload this thing all morning. -kicks it-

* * *

. 

_11:17 pm_

Paige was restless. She had gone to bed about an hour ago, she noted with a rueful look at her bedside clock, but she had been unable to fall asleep. An hour spent tossing and turning in her bed should've tired her, she thought, but apparently her body was having none of it.

She had an early day tomorrow, so why was her traitorous brain keeping her awake? It would not do to show up at work with bags under her eyes and a yawn at the tip of her lips, but what more could she do? If memory served right, she had already counted all the sheep in the world. Twice. An old relaxation trick she had learned from a college roommate wasn't working and if she didn't go to sleep in the next fifteen minutes, she was going to seriously consider going to the Book of Shadows and looking some anti-insomnia spell up.

The thought of her heritage resting up in the attic seemed to send her anxiety levels into overdrive. She had the sudden urge to go up to the third floor, despite the late hour and the cold floors she knew awaited her. She stubbornly closed her eyes and turned on her side, willing her mind to shut the hell up and let her sleep already.

It didn't work.

She opened her eyes and the clock winked merrily at her. 11:21.

_Wonderful, just wonderful_, she thought, pushing the covers back and finding her slippers in the dark. Somehow, it felt fitting to do it in the darkness of the night—shaking her head, she opened the door and moved towards the stairs, wondering if her hectic life was finally catching up with her. It wouldn't surprise her to find out that vanquishing demons and saving the world from impending Apocalypse every other week came with a price: sleep-deprivation seemed the least of her problems at this point.

She had set one foot on the very first step of the attic-stairs when she caught the faint murmur of voices. They were coming from upstairs, she noted, wondering if she should wake Piper or Cole before checking it out. But then Cole's baritone voice reached her ears and a faint smile curled her lips—so she wasn't the only one suffering from insomnia in the house, hmm?

The thought of spending a quite night talking with the half-demon was **very** appealing, and Paige found herself in the attic before she could even remember how she got there. But inside, she found more than she had expected: Piper was also there, standing by the Book, and so was Leo, caught in a heated argument with Cole.

Her sister was the only one who saw her enter and sent a nod her way. Paige said nothing and instead raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow, silently asking what was going on. Approaching her, Piper whispered an explanation: "Cole woke us about half an hour ago, saying he had felt something was about to go down in the Underworld."

Leo chose that moment to huff in indignation at something Cole said, and Paige couldn't help but smile. He looked so cute when he was frustrated…

"But why are they arguing?"

"He wants to go down there. Says that with such a magical commotion, they won't spot him."

Paige didn't need to know anything else. It was clear that the whitelighter – and both witches, had the man bothered to ask – was against the idea. It was obvious this was a trap, a trick to lure Cole out and away from the protection of the Charmed Ones. That he would be so adamant to return to the Underworld was strange, Paige mused, watching the tension flow across Cole's back like a living thing, ripples of vexation at Leo's apparent stubbornness.

"And you?" Piper asked, brushing some of Paige's hair back. Self-conscious, Paige suddenly wished she had taken the time to run a brush through the rebellious locks: just how did Piper manage to look so fresh and perfect after being rudely awakened in the middle of the night?

Blinking rapidly to vanish the last traces of sleep, Paige shrugged: "Dunno. Couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd go get a glass of milk or something."

Cole's voice rose and fell; Paige could tell he was angry. He made no move to strike Leo, though, and she chided herself for even thinking that. "Heard voices, came to check it out", she finished, brushing her hands across her naked arms. It was a chilly night and she was wearing little to protect herself from the weather. As a matter of fact, she was wearing very little **period**, she realized with a start, and just as she considered the thought of running back down to grab a robe, Cole turned and saw her.

A blush blossomed across her cheeks, painting them a lovely shade of pink and Paige could just die. And why was she so embarrassed? It was just Cole…

Seemingly uninterested in her night attire, Cole eyes skipped her as if she wasn't even there and turned to Piper: "Tell him to lift the binding."

Cole's voice came petulant and almost—childish, Paige thought, her pride injured at his apparent lack of reaction to her choice of jammies. But she hadn't expected to find herself in the middle of a family brawl, so her flimsy top and low riding string pants were the only things covering her from the cold night air.

By her side, Piper was shaking her head. "Not until you promise you won't go."

It was a circular argument, Paige knew, but it was the truth. If Leo lifted the binding spell that kept Cole grounded to the Manor – aaah, so that was the faint buzz in the back of her head, then – the half-demon would not lose time to shimmer into the Underworld and right into the Source's trap. Now, if they could just make him see that…

Cole huffed, throwing his hands in the air. "You are impossible!"

Why was he so strung out? What was it that made it so imperative for him to shimmer into the Underworld? Leo chose that moment to renew his side of the conversation and soon after, the two men were again arguing, ignoring the two women standing before them.

Paige shook her head. "Good to know I'm not the only one who gets the wibbies in the middle of the night."

Piper turned to look at her, something akin to surprise in her eyes. "Come again?"

Paige brushed her fingers through her long hair, wondering if it was time to cut it yet and then deciding against it. She liked the way it felt, long and draped across her back. Perhaps dyeing it… copper was the new black this year, wasn't it?

"Paige", Piper tried again, snapping her fingers in front of her face, "you there?"

The younger woman smiled, shaking her head again. Boy, she was a total space-case these days, wasn't she? "I mean I haven't been able to sleep at all tonight. Felt like I needed to be awake, you know?"

The words fell through her lips before she had the time to consider them, and by then she realized she truly meant them. She needed to be awake, indeed—but for what?

Her spider sense began to tingle, that tickle to the back of her head that came with the Halliwell name. Something was going on, she decided, watching the little crease between Piper's eyebrows deepen. "Funny you would say that", began Piper, letting her arms cross across her chest, "I said the same thing to Leo when we went to bed."

Something clicked in Paige's head. "But—you said you couldn't sleep. You went to bed anyway?"

This time, the blush was in Piper's cheeks and the realization made it jump to Paige's face as well. "Oh", she began, trying to recover her slip-up, "Sorry. Didn't mean to pry."

Piper waved a hand about, the blush making her look younger and more innocent. It was a good look on her; Paige mused, and wondered if that was what had drawn Leo to her. And then it didn't seem to matter, because the certainty that something important was going on hit her out of the blue.

They looked at each other and as one, turned to the Book. Opening it and leafing through the pages seemed to make enough of a fuss to draw Cole and Leo out of their argument, and both men turned to look at them with strange eyes.

"Cole's right, Leo", said Piper, and Paige saw the way triumph twinkled in Cole's pupils, "There **is** something going on tonight."

As Paige explained it to them, the words seemed sillier and sillier: they were basing their decision on the fact that neither sister had been able to sleep tonight? _Ooooh, the Halliwells have insomnia: stop the presses,_ mocked a voice inside her head, sounding suspiciously like her own. But then something changed in Leo's eyes, something hardened and shifted, and she knew they were on to something.

Leo seemed to read her mind, and he came to stand beside her: "Don't dismiss these feelings, Paige. Your dreams – or the lack of them – usually warn you when a great magical event is about to take place."

Paige nodded, confidence returning as Leo's older, more experienced ways supported her hunch. Leo moved close to Piper now, and Paige looked up to find Cole standing much closer than he had been just moments before. She yelped low in her throat, and a somewhat predatory smile curled his lips. He looked at her for a while, saying nothing, just letting those big, blue eyes rake all over her goose bump-ed skin. It wasn't sexual, she noted – and was surprised to feel a small sting of disappointment ran through her – but mostly, well, fatherly.

"Here", he ended up saying as he shimmied out of his jacket and placed it over her slender shoulders. It was still warm as it landed upon her exposed skin, and she fought the urge to burrow deep into it—was she forgiving his earlier dismissal so easily? Apparently she was, because she found herself smiling at him openly, closing the jacket across her chest and marveling at how much bigger he was.

It seemed Piper and Leo had been talking, because when she and Cole turned to look at them, there was a look of fierce determination in their eyes.

"We are going down there", was all they said, and Paige just nodded. Who was she to argue? It felt right, and Leo had told her to trust her instincts. And right now, her instincts were telling her they were needed in the Underworld—something was going to happen tonight and they'd better be prepared.

She was about to ask if they could change their clothes first – can't go around saving the world in your pajamas, right? – when the twinkle of bells in the air alerted them to someone orbing in. As one, they turned to the center of the attic where the sparkling lights were coalescing into a human form, and when they parted, Penny Halliwell was left behind.

"No, you are not", she said, and they all knew what she meant.

Cole beat them and spoke up first, his demon reflexes used to being given a new spin on any situation: "And how are you going to stop us?"

He was strangely confrontational, Paige observed, and even his stance seemed defiant, almost as if daring the newcomer to face him. She reached out to him and he took a long time to turn his eyes to her, and when he did, Paige saw things in there she didn't like.

There was anger in those iridescent depths; anger that swam and oozed like a living thing and Paige took a small step back, frightened at the strength of Cole's emotions. He closed his eyes and shook his head, and when he opened them again, they were as she remembered them: calm and cool, and the bluest she had ever seen on a human face.

Piper spoke then, and whatever Cole had been about to say was lost. Paige knew what he had wanted to tell her, though: could see it written all across his face. _I'm sorry if I scared you_.

"Grams? What are you doing there?"

As Piper addressed their grandmother, Paige moved back towards Cole, not quite touching him. He made no move to touch her either, but somehow, standing that close together, they both knew it was all right.

"I came here to warn you, my darlings. You cannot go into the Underworld."

"We know it's a trap, Penny", Leo answered, but the older Halliwell shook her head.

"As a matter of fact, my dear boy, it is not a trap."

Silence befell the room, that kind of silence that has a thousand meanings and none at all. Penny continued, and they could all see how great an effort it took for her to speak: "The Source is not responsible for what is about to happen. He could not stop it even if he wanted to."

Her ageless, blue-lit face contorted in pain and Paige suddenly wished Penny was corporeal just so she could hug her, chase that look away from her grandmother's eyes. But Paige couldn't, and Penny wasn't, so instead, she asked: "What will happen?"

Penelope Halliwell turned old, sad eyes towards her younger granddaughter and clasped her hands in front of her. It was almost as if she was restraining herself from reaching out to them, and that was the first sign Paige saw that something was about to go terribly, horribly wrong. "A great power will come into this world… it is the reason you were unable to fall asleep tonight. That magic calls to yours and it will keep you awake until it comes to pass."

Piper spoke up, pretty face confused: "But all the more reason to go! We have to keep the Source from getting it!"

Grams shook her head slowly. "There are more pressing matters for you to worry about, Piper-dear."

Paige could tell Piper was completely lost, and so was she. As a matter of fact, all of them were, judging by the baffled looks in all their eyes. Wasn't that what they did? Prevent the Source from acquiring too much power; fight the good fight and all that? Why wasn't Penny letting them through, then? And what in the world could be more important than them stopping the Source from getting his hands on such an immense fountain of power?

Practically repeating her thoughts words for word, Piper asked: "What is more important than stopping the Source?" There was old anger in her words, a ghost of bitterness that had taken months to dispel and just a few seconds to return. The Source had destroyed their family, killing two of their sisters: it was surprisingly easy to hate him.

It was a long time before Penny answered. And when she did, her very voice sounded exhausted, as if she had been struggling with the truth for a long, long time.

"Phoebe."

All eyes snapped to attention, boring holes into Penny's ghostly form. The woman did not look back and instead turned around, surveying the contents of the attic she had once called her own. Before any of them could say anything, she carried on, every word tinged with sadness: "More exactly, Phoebe's soul."

Paige felt rather than saw Cole tense. All of sudden, his entire body turned taut and stiff, hands fisted and trembling with barely contained emotion. Something like that was happening to her heart, she noted dispassionately, feeling it harden and freeze in her chest. Because it couldn't be. It **couldn't** be.

As if uncaring of the effect her revelations were having on them, Grams continued, her eyes trying to find theirs: "When the Source took her, all those months ago, the Elders prepared to receive her soul. Upon death, all souls are released into the ether and carried to their final destinations: I don't think I need to tell you what Phoebe's was."

For a moment there, the world swayed around Paige, as if her eyes lost their focus and she feared her knees would give out from under her. The moment passed but the unrelenting nausea remained, escalating as Grams kept on talking: "But there was a problem. Phoebe's soul was never released."

They had all known it was coming. Deep in their hearts, they had already known the truth—that did not prepare them to receive confirmation of the news, however, and they all felt the blow fall. A soft, pained gasp echoed in the room, and it took a while for Paige to realize it had been her own. She felt strangely disconnected, as if she wasn't really standing there…

"It is not the first time the Source keeps his victims' souls", Penny continued, unaware of the effect her words were having on Cole. Did she even know the truth behind the events that led to the Day that Never Was? Did she know that it was the promise of Cole's father's soul that had driven him to insanity? Phoebe had told Paige everything, trusting her to deal with the news as best she could. Now, the realization that her sister was going through that very same thing was enough to chase away the pain and replace it with anger.

"The Elders were more concerned with her powers being safe from evil than Phoebe's fate. When time went by and her powers remained dormant, they decided it would be best if you did not know."

Anger was good—it filled that empty void inside her chest, gave her something to hold on to lest she float away. A few steps to her right, Piper stood, and there was such horror dancing in her eyes that it was like the proverbial straw on the camel's back: something inside Paige snapped, something that was still innocent and pure and trusting. Whatever it was, it shattered into a million tiny pieces and this time, she stumbled forward and only Cole's instinctive response to catch her prevented her from collapsing to the floor.

As his arms encircled her, Paige felt a fine tremor running up and down his body—the question came riding the cacophony of thoughts inside her head, glowing brightly in the darkness that was her mind.

How was Cole dealing with all this? How was he coping with this horrible, horrible truth?

She tried to look at him but his face was turned away from her, almost as if he was afraid she would gaze into those eyes and flinch again.

Penelope made a move to step off the magical candle circle, but something must've shown in their faces because she stopped just short of the edge. Before any of them could speak, though, Paige felt the tremor of Cole's body turn into a full shiver and suddenly the small hairs on her arms were standing on end and something tickled at her senses. _Power_, was all she had time to think, before the wall in front of them exploded in blue fire as Cole's electric bolt slammed into it head on. She shrieked and covered her face as splinters and debris flew about, but otherwise made no move to protect herself.

As the dust cleared and the crisp, clear San Francisco air gushed past them, Paige's eyes were drawn to Cole's right hand, where another bolt was beginning to grow. The eerie blue light painted dancing shadows across his face, and for a moment there, Paige thought she saw a tear. It was gone in a heartbeat, and she wondered if she hadn't imagined it all, but then the electric bolt got too close to her skin and she was forced back.

The loss of contact with his body seemed to steady her, as if he had somehow been leeching her energy off of her. In contrast, it seemed to weaken him, and the bolt in his hand didn't glow as bright. But it still grew, already the size of a basketball and getting bigger as the moments went by.

Paige wanted to say something, but what could she say that Cole wasn't already thinking? What words could she possible utter that would make sense to him right now?

Penny opened her mouth to say something, but Paige silenced her with a wave of her hand. The three women watched Cole's back, watched tension roll off of him in waves as his hostility mounted, crested and washed down again, and all along the firebolt grew bigger, brighter, until the entire attic was alight with its preternatural glow.

A faint scent of musk tugged at Paige's senses and she clutched Cole's jacket tighter to her body. And then the memory hit her, of a day long ago when Phoebe had worn this same jacket after a particularly nasty battle with a slime demon—Cole had slid it over her shoulders with practiced ease, and the way she had looked up to him had been the very definition of love.

And now she, Paige, was wearing it… wasn't it a desecration of Phoebe's memory? Wasn't it like betraying her, especially after having learned such abominable news? A shudder ran up and down her lithe body and she shed the jacket as if it burned her. It fell to the floor with a low 'thump', but it was enough to draw Cole's attention to her.

His wild, desperate eyes locked with hers and this time, her tears fell. She cried for both of them, for Phoebe, for everything they had tried to put back together to have it all destroyed again.

It felt strange that there was no earthquake this time; Paige thought absently, the tears streaming down her cheeks. She was cold, the chill of the night wind biting at her skin, but she knew it was not because she had taken Cole's jacket off. It was a cold that came from within her, from dark and silent places deep within her own soul.

Cole looked at her for a long time, and the silence in the attic was heavy with angst. His', hers, Piper's, Leo's… they fed off each other like hungry things, and it mounted until Paige thought she might drown from it.

He closed his eyes and the bolt glittered like a burning fire at the tip of his fingers, and Paige held her breath. In the end, Cole fired into the night sky with a roar of rage, falling to his knees as it flew into the air, a ball of light amidst the darkness, and exploded above the bay, casting fireworks into the sea.

Paige didn't know what it was that set the alarms off in her head. Maybe it was the way Cole turned to look at them, eyes sad and devoid of any warmth whatsoever. Maybe it was how the air around him weaved about like a desert mirage, the first signals that he was about to teleport away. Whatever the case, she knew what he was about to do and also knew she was not going to be able to stop him in time.

She didn't need to.

Faster than Paige could see, Piper had crossed the distance between her and Cole and was holding on to him, stopping him in mid-shimmer. Cole tried to pry her off his arm but she held on fast, face hidden against his shoulder, successfully preventing him from going anywhere.

"Piper", he began, and if Paige's heart hadn't already broken, it would have upon hearing his voice crack with that single word, "Release me."

Piper didn't let go. On the contrary, she seemed to burrow deeper against him, almost as if trying to come out the other side. Paige cast a weary glance to Leo, expecting to see jealousy once again riding his face, but instead she found tears in his eyes. They looked at each other, only half-listening to the hurried whispers between Cole and Piper as the half-demon tried to convince her to allow him passage, and as one the two whitelighters turned to look at the couple. They seemed to be waiting for something, Paige thought, but for the life of her she could not say what.

Piper's hair seemed to blend with Cole's dark clothes, and the turtleneck he wore made him look almost—gaunt. The events of the past few minutes seemed to have sucked the life out of him, and Paige couldn't help but wonder just what the rest of them looked like.

Cole said something then, so low that she only caught a few words of it, but it seemed to finally draw Piper out of her stupor. She rose from Cole's side, eyes wide and shinning, and there were tear trails on her cheeks as she yelled: "You think I don't know that?"

Her fingers were digging into his arms, Paige noticed, and it must have hurt. But there was nothing on Cole's face to show any pain—as a matter of fact, there was nothing there at all. Just emptiness, a sudden lack of emotion that scared her even more than his anger had. Because if there was nothing left for him to feel, then how could they recover from this?

"You think I don't want to go too? She's my **sister**, Cole, my **family**," Piper was saying, her voice rising and quivering as more tears came forth, "But I am not letting you commit suicide over this!"

Her words struck Paige, and that's when she realized why Cole's empty face had scared her so: he was going to let the Source kill him, was going to bargain with him to release Phoebe's soul. Because that's what all of this was about, right? His betrayal to the demon overlord, his treason to the Brotherhood of the Thorn. Paige had been there when the tattoo had burned out, she had looked after him as the fever struck and left him helpless and lost in its wake.

He was going to trade himself for Phoebe, she realized, and attempt to give them their life back.

Penelope spoke then and Paige jumped in surprise. She had forgotten her grandmother was there…

"You cannot go, Cole." The older Halliwell looked tired, spent—did ghosts suffer from fatigue? Such a vacuous question to ask, but it was all Paige could think about as she looked at her grandmother.

Cole turned wild eyes towards Penny, and even Piper trembled under the power behind that gaze. For a moment there, his features seemed to blur with that of Belthazor, his skin glowing red before he was able to control the change and stop the demon from coming forth.

"Watch me", was all he ended up saying, but there was a clear threat in those simple two words. There was a promise of worlds of pain behind them, because somehow, Penelope was also responsible for all of this. Piper tugged at his arm hard, forcing him to break eye contact with her grandmother and instead direct those burning pools of anger towards **her**. Paige thought her older sister would falter under the glower, but she didn't. Instead, she met his angry stare head on.

So many things seemed to go through between the two it was impossible to keep track. And although not a single word was spoken, Paige could almost follow the conversation behind the silence: _listen to her, please_, Piper was saying, brushing Cole's arm with her hand in a gesture meant to soothe wild beasts.

Amazingly, Cole seemed to calm down. His rage lessened somewhat, and he took several gulps of air before he was able to face Penelope again. That seemed to prompt her to continue, and she spoke in low tones, almost as if afraid any loud noise would send him spiraling back into madness.

"You can't go there. Not now, at least."

Paige and Leo walked towards Piper and Cole, drawing strength from their numbers.

"There's a great disturbance coming. A commotion of magical forces has been gathering for some months now. It's going to go off at midnight, tonight—and if it does while you're still down there you will trapped with no way out."

The four of them looked at her for the space of a few heartbeats, for those moments not seeing the danger she had spoken of. And then, one by one, the realization of what it truly meant to be trapped in the Underworld, held in the bowels of the Earth without a way out, sunk in and made ice-cold fear crawl along their spines.

Paige spoke because no one else was saying anything and the silence was becoming unbearable. She spoke because she needed to, lest she let that bitter lump lodged on the back of her throat choke her. "Fine. The moment it blows off, we're going down there."

Penny just nodded. Keeping Leo's arms around her, Piper picked up where Paige had left off: "And you are going to answer some questions in the meantime, Grams."

* * *

. 

_11:08 pm_

She hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

She was only eight and a half months along. There were still two more weeks to go according to her calculations. Fourteen days, time that she desperately needed, desperately wanted—still so many things she needed to sort out—but Prue was coming.

And Phoebe felt it with every fiber of her being.

Even after the Source had bound her premonitions, she still retained some control over them. She didn't get flashes anymore, but she could still feel when certain things were going to happen. Not that she needed to be a Seer to realize what was going on right now, but still. She was going into labor. And she still had no clue, as to how to protect her little baby once she was out into the world.

She gasped loudly and clung onto the wall, trying to support herself up.

Goddess, it hurt!

Sweat ran down her forehead as contractions rippled through her body and immersed her in a world of pain.

_Not now, not yet..._

But, unyielding, little Prue kept pushing, impatient, restless—she was coming out, whether her mother was ready or not.

Phoebe thanked whatever deity was watching down on her, that she had remained in her quarters today. Usually, demons hung out up on the Surface, disguised under mortal masks and mortal money. But she knew the Source did not trust her enough to let her roam free in the world of the living. Not yet, anyway.

So she had stay down under, living in the shadows, missing the caress of the sun and the soft spring breezes... it was probably summer in San Francisco, though.

She ground her teeth together, keeping the scream inside her throat. She needed to be quiet—one cry out of her lips and the Source would be onto her and then all hope would be lost.

_Prue, please!_

The baby inside of her ignored her pleas, having made up her mind about coming out. A particularly painful contraction hit her and she slumped forward, doubling over, incapable of holding herself up. Goddess, the baby inside of her was a quarter demon, and she was showing it to the world!

Stumbling, she made her way to the bed and lay down on it, breathing heavily. Her eyes glazed over and lost, fixed on the ceiling above her, she never saw the sparkles of magic that sealed the room from outside intruders, effectively locking her into a protective safe cocoon.

Phoebe knew she could call someone—anyone, and they would come. There were healers in the Underworld, experts and midwives that could help her deliver Prue into the world. But how could she call for anyone when they would take her baby from her the moment she was born? How could she call for help when they would kill the last shred of hope in her heart?

She was going to have to handle this alone.

The room tilted and red spots danced in her vision as a sizzling pain ran from her belly and into her limbs. Prue was coming so fast!

She sat on the bed, trying to keep her upper chest up—what was she supposed to do? She wasn't ready for this! There were supposed to be doctors and nurses, and her mother, telling her what to do. Telling her to breathe deeply and evenly, to do what she had practiced in whatshisname's class—

Damn it!

Her hands tightened into fists, grabbing handfuls of sheets into them. Luckily, she had just changed into her nightgown and her legs fell open on their own accord. Maybe her mind wasn't ready for this, but females had been giving birth for thousands of years, before medicine and painkillers came along. Phoebe's soul was old and had done this a million times before. Now, it was getting ready to do it one more time.

She closed her eyes, trying to block everything out, to stop the tears from coming and clouding her vision even more. It was useless. The tears came and she cried. She cried for her baby daughter, who would come to the world in Hell and would surely be corrupted the second she opened her eyes. She cried for herself, because what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life was turning out to be a disaster.

_Mommy…_

She cried for her mother, who would never see her granddaughter. She cried because she needed her and she wasn't there. She cried because she needed support and there was no one around to give it to her. Her sobs echoed around the chamber, resounding on the walls and coming back at her, mocking her, laughing at her—

_'You were always such a screw-up, Phoebe'_

Damn it! Where were they when she needed them? Where were they now, when she was going to bleed to death on her own bed and her daughter would be taken and turned by Evil? Probably smooching some more, making out in her old bedroom, violating the sanctity of what she had always called hers'. Goddess, how she hated them! Hated them with a passion so big and a fire so high it threatened to consume her, burn from the inside out.

She bit her lip to avoid screaming. The contractions were coming closer now... and she knew that meant the time was coming.

"I hate you!"

Her voice shook with agony and as she tasted her own blood, rich and sweet and polluted, she felt more tears run down her cheeks. She refused to say his name. To say it would mean she acknowledged his existence, that she accepted the fact he had gotten her pregnant and then fucked her older sister. To say it would bring back memories she would rather forget, because they represented everything she hated, everything she despised, and loads and loads of pain that just waited to pounce on her.

A lie. It had all been a lie.

She cried softly, the sound keen and sharp, as she felt wetness seeping between her legs. Her water must have broken. She dared not look down. She did not want to see the blood pouring off her thighs and staining the black sheets with its red tint.

Gods, she needed to push! Wanted it all to be over—and at the same time, needed it to stretch on forever. Because if Prue was born, then it was all over. And her soul be damned, she was **not** letting her daughter fall into the Source's hands, even if it killed her.

She was breathing rapidly, her breath coming in heavy pants and her whole body was taut and vibrating, preparing for the moment of birth. She didn't know what to do and cried once again, because maybe she wasn't going to make it. If she died now, so would her little baby. Her little baby, who was now ripping her insides out, trying to come into a world that awaited her impatiently.

_Now. _

She never knew if the voice in her head was real. Never knew who had spoken so softly in the back of her mind she had almost missed it. And she never asked really, because she also knew it was time.

Taking a deep breath, she gathered her energy and pushed. Things seemed to slow down and everything turned fuzzy, and she felt detached and incorporeal, and just—not there. It seemed it was someone else who was giving birth. Strength that was not her own empowered her, spreading all over her tired body and giving it the last ounce of energy it needed.

There was no more pain, and everything was just so **slow**… seconds seemed to roll by, lazy and indolent, passing her by almost as an afterthought.

It suddenly all came back in a rush, as if making up for the lost time. And she cried out, screaming, as Prudence Halliwell-Turner came into the world.

* * *

. 

_12:00 am_

"Did you feel that?"

Still up in the attic, just by the strike of midnight, Cole's head snapped up as a distant cry pierced his ears.

"What?" He wasn't sure who spoke—their voices seemed distant and far away, all his senses zeroing in towards the sound he had heard. As the old pendulum clock downstairs began its slow count up to the twelve hour, Cole heard it again.

"That."

Paige squinted her eyes and she tried to listen. Cole's demonic hearing was far more developed than theirs was, but she tried her best to make out what had caused him to stop and cock his head to the side. "I don't hear anything."

Leo and Piper nodded slowly, neither of them hearing anything either.

"It was like—a baby crying."

Cole walked a few steps, but the sound was coming from nowhere in particular—except from within his own mind.

"You sure?"

And as quickly as it had come, it stopped. Silence befell the attic and Cole was left wondering if he had really heard anything at all. "Not really." He tried to concentrate, expanding his senses, trying to find the source of the wailing he had heard... but it was as if it had never been there in the first place. There were no traces of magic in the air, except for the sisters' aura that seemed to ooze around the manor twenty-four/seven.

Piper and Paige fell back into a tense conversation, coming up with ideas to take down the Source. There was a plan forming, a plan designed to release Phoebe's soul from the Source. Penny's revelation had hit them all hard, but the certainty that they needed to vanquish the demon leader as soon as possible was unequivocal. Trying to concentrate on what they were saying was surprisingly hard—his mind kept running away from him, re-playing the baby's cries he had heard.

Something told him it would be soon before he heard them again.

* * *

. 

_12:07 am_

Phoebe hadn't realized her eyes were closed until she had to force herself to open them. Slowly, hesitantly, she let her eyelids rise, afraid of what she may see.

The pain was lessening, changing from sizzling agony into a dull ache of over stressed muscles. She felt positively exhausted.

Only one look between her legs, and her fatigue disappeared as if by magic.

Prue.

She was small, she was so small... cutting the umbilical chord, her trembling hands picked her up and tenderly held the baby close. Strangely, the baby was quiet. No sound came from her, but her eyes were open and stared up her mother's face questioningly, curious and sleepy at the same time.

She knew this was not normal behavior for a newborn, but she couldn't care less.

Her little baby was here. Prue was here. She cooed at her, softly rubbing their noses together. Prue answered with a giggle, so pure, so innocent it brought tears to Phoebe's eyes. Her finger gently traced the curve of her perfect cheeks and the baby seemed to lean into her touch. She was so beautiful—she was the most beautiful thing Phoebe had ever seen.

She was perfect.

Her tiny hands, curled into even tinier fists, seemed to lurch around, in sudden moves that spoke of undeveloped motor skills. But her eyes—her eyes were the purest of blues Phoebe had ever seen. Cobalt blue came to mind when she tried to find a proper word to describe them. There was a soft mop of newborn hair on her tiny head. It was brown, dark brown... but she had read somewhere all babies were born with dark hair.

"Hi there, little one."

Prue gurgled at her words and giggled again. Phoebe felt her heart melting and happiness like she had never known before fill her heart. "Prue. That's your name, precious. Prue." The baby blinked at her, her pupils never once looking away. It was as if she was memorizing Phoebe's features...

Feeling as her tissue reconstituted itself, the healing abilities kicking in, Phoebe moved around in the bed, wincing as the sticky sheets clung to her skin. Sticky sheets, stained with her blood. With her life.

Never once putting Prue down, she slowly stood up, her legs aching and wobbling under her. But she needed to move. She needed to clean Prue up.

Little Prue looked around the room, her inquiring gaze taking everything in. It was almost as if she could actually understand what she was seeing.

Phoebe held her close, feeling her warmth, which suddenly reminded her of **him**. But whereas Cole's memory brought pain to her heart, Prue's presence did nothing but calm her frayed mind. Strange, how two people so alike could have such opposite effects on her psyche.

She forced herself to move faster. They were coming, she knew it. If during her pregnancy, Prue's power came off of Phoebe's body like an expensive perfume, now it had spiked like a wave crashing upon shore. Picking up one of the pillows, she took off the pillowcase and carried it with her. Still wobbly, she approached a small fountain that ran on the corner of the chamber. She had drunk from it before—it was clean and just what she needed to clean her daughter with.

Slowly, with as much care as if she was cleaning the most precious thing in the world, she cleaned her. The waters ran red as Prue's skin arose from the blood and placenta that still covered her. All along, the baby gurgled, her first contact with water pleasant and welcome.

All along, Phoebe cried.

When the pillowcase was stained beyond recognition with a sickly pink hue, and Prue was clean and done, Phoebe sank back against the wall, taking her baby with her. She rocked Prue back and forth, singing an old lullaby she remembered from when she was little, and Grams used to tuck her in. Before her life took a downturn and everything turned into a mess.

Goddess, she was so tired... so, so tired. Her eyes opened and closed, over and over again as she fought sleep away. She could not sleep. She could not rest. Not until she was sure Prue was safe. But how? How could she protect her little daughter, in a place so evil, so dark, even breathing was difficult?

She held her against her heart and by instinct born of a thousand lives prior, little Prue latched onto her breast and began feeding greedily. Seeing her there, cradled against her breast, drinking from her own milk, as if she was not in Hell but in her own home, broke Phoebe's heart. Because the only thing this baby would ever know, would be darkness. Betrayal and pain and torture, all designed to shape her into the perfect assassin the Source wanted her to be.

Somehow, Prue's breastfeeding seemed to calm Phoebe down, almost as if little Prue drank not only her milk but also her fear. So when the word slipped through Phoebe's chapped lips, she wasn't even surprised: "Mommy."

It was a silent whisper, a name she hadn't called in a long time. And as if with that word she had summoned inspiration, the certainty of what had to be done settled upon her with the weight of a thousand worlds.

She knew what she had to do. Knew that she would die first than let her Prue be corrupted by Evil. She knew her baby daughter would not suffer under the hand of the Source, or any other demon that craved her power.

She wouldn't. Not if she had anything to do with it.

There was only one thing she could do to keep Prue safe. To keep her pure. To keep her innocent.

Kill her.

A desperate sob went past the lump in her throat as she cried again, depleted of any energy whatsoever. Goddess, if only she could still do spells—teleport little Prue out of the Underworld, away from the Source's grasp… alas, the demonic Lord had been quite clever and had removed her ability to cast spells and charms soon into their partnership. That, and the blood-blond they now shared prevented her from accessing her powers, the last safety measure the Source had taken to ensure her utter and complete lack of resistance.

That meant the only thing she could do to protect Prue was to kill her. To spare her a life of agony, she would kill her newborn child. To save Prue's soul, Phoebe would take Prue's life.

Oblivious to her mother's troubled thoughts; little Prue kept on suckling, hungry.

Phoebe caressed her cheek, taking in the feel of her soft, baby skin and her wide, open blue eyes, and her perfect little nose—life. Life she had created, life that she had brought into the world. Life she would now have to terminate.

Prue seemed to stare into her mother's eyes, oblivious of the struggle inside. Complete trust in her, and Phoebe felt sickened—her stomach turned at the thought of what she was about to do. She closed her eyes, breaking the link, and harshly brought her head back against the wall, biting her lip as pain irradiated from her skull and downwards.

_Good, concentrate on the pain. _

How she wished to follow Prue, to follow her into the afterlife—but she knew better than to try. Knew better than to try and take her life, because her life was no longer her own. She belonged to the Source, mind, body and soul.

And as long as he lived, she would. The Source was immortal—and now, so was she. To face immortality with these kinds of memories was torture. And she knew it. But she also knew that if she allowed him to take Prue, she could not live with herself anyway.

So it was the lesser of two evils: sacrifice her daughter so she would be safe was better than to watch her become corrupted and used by forces so evil, they lurked in the nightmares of humans and demons alike.

"Prue."

The little baby, unaware of the tears in her mother's eyes and the breaking of her heart, looked up at her and smiled widely. And Phoebe realized she couldn't—she just couldn't do it.

_You will let him take her, then?_

Anguish made her reach up inside her soul, looking for an answer that would never come. Because there was no right or wrong in a situation like this... she could only do what she needed to do. As she turned back inside and cried out for help, the Source's hold onto her premonitions faltered for just a moment and she was allowed one last vision.

_... tall, dark and beautiful, a deadly princess of Death caused mayhem in the mortal's world, becoming the most powerful assassin demons and humans had ever known. Her name was Prue, and she had Cole's eyes and Phoebe's face and she laughed and laughed as she killed an innocent, twisting his neck in an odd angle..._

She came back to her own body gasping for breath, craving for air, desperate for help. Help that would never come, because this was her own decision to make. The vision had been so vivid Phoebe could still feel the smile that had curled her lips at the sight of Prue killing her first innocent. She had been there as well, mother and daughter at the Source's beck and call. It was that future, the possibility of it ever coming true that froze her heart into solid steel and made her resolve.

It would not happen. It wouldn't, because she was about to commit murder to stop it.

With the tears coming so fast and so hard they clouded her vision and made it hard to breathe, she rose.

_You will not get her._

She had made herself that promise. She had vowed her daughter would not become evil. She had sworn on everything she held dear that her daughter would never experience the hell she was in. And she had no other way to go.

There **was** no other way to go.

She softly put Prue down, nuzzling her nose one last time. She memorized her features, knowing, needing to know what her face looked like. What the face that would haunt her to her last breath looked like. And little Prue raised her small hand, mimicking her moves, tracing Phoebe's own cheek with her small, delicate fingers.

Phoebe kissed her forehead and whispered one last word.

"Goodbye."

She rose and turned away. Prue remained silent, waiting on the ground in the bundle of sheets. Phoebe just wished the baby would cry, at least one time, to hear her voice, to remind her she was alive—to stop her!

But Prue did not utter a sound. It was most obvious this baby was not human. And neither was her mother.

Closing her eyes, Phoebe stretched out her right hand and summoned a fireball.

It was hard to fight her own conscience, which rebelled against what she was about to do. But she pressed on, unwilling to listen to the screams inside her head, to the shattered pieces of her heart.

As the chamber lit up with the small fireball that sizzled in her hand, she opened her eyes, and looked at Prue. The baby just looked back, and almost as if in response to her thoughts, gave her one big, brilliant smile. Phoebe's hand fell a few inches as her resolve faltered, but then her premonition sprung forth and her fingers clutched the fireball tighter. She should feel it burning her skin now, eating away her flesh—there was nothing.

"I'm sorry."

Her words echoed around the stonewalls, repeating themselves so many times they lost their meaning. Prue closed her eyes and Phoebe thanked her for that, because she knew she could never be able to fire with her daughter looking straight at her.

Phoebe knew she would never find forgiveness: she would kill her first innocent today. Her own daughter would christen her as Phax. There would be no need for a blood sacrifice to baptize her, because what she was about to do now qualified as the greatest sacrifice of all.

She held her breath and bit her lip, tasting her blood...

She fired.

TBC...

* * *

. 

I'm evil, aren't I?


	8. Reality Twists

_** Change of Heart **_

Chapter 8: _Reality Twists_

by Lilian

lilian413 at yahoo dot com

Author's Notes: Whew, this has been quite the eventful week for me. So many things happened all at once – I got my official acceptance for the graduate program at Chicago University, I got my undergraduate degree in Biology at **my** University – that giving this chapter to you guys is like keeping up the magic of these past few days. 

I'd also like to thank Snoopy and mimi, both of whom have given me the sweetest, most wonderful reviews I've ever gotten. It's your thoughts and comments that kept me writing, especially during that stressful week of final exams. So, this chapter is just for you:-)

Also, Maricole? I might have a small surprise for you next week...

* * *

. 

"Piper, let go of me."

Cole's voice was tired. Tired of spending the past twenty minutes trying to dislodge Piper from his arm, where she had promptly attached herself in an effort to keep him in the manor and away from the Underworld.

Piper said nothing, and instead curled her fingers tighter around his bicep. Cole cast a glance to his right, where Paige looked as if she was seriously considering mimicking her older sister's idea with his remaining free arm, and sighed. As if one Halliwell clinging to him as if the world was coming to an end wasn't enough, what on Earth would he do with two?

"Piper, please", he tried again, "I don't want to hurt you."

The tiniest of growls made its way into his voice, and he realized with a start that in trying to get Piper to release him, he had forgotten to control his demonic self. Belthazor had been howling and trashing inside of him ever since they learned the dreadful news of Phoebe's soul – and even now, as his human mind replayed the events of the past hour and a half – he could feel his skin heating up, the first stirrings of the change threatening to burst through.

His arm convulsed once, twice, and Piper must have mistaken the motion for an attempt at shimmering away, because she pressed herself tighter against him, her left hand moving up to brush against his neck. "You listen to me, Cole, and listen right: you are not going anywhere. Not right now, at least."

Cole was not used to people telling him what to do. So it was a strange feeling to have this slip of a woman – really, Piper was anemically thin. She wasn't eating right, that much he could tell just by the brush of her body against his – ordering him around, and what was most surprising, that he was actually listening to her.

He thought back a few years, hell, a few months, and realized that not so long ago, he would have had no problems with pushing Piper away from him. One little move and she would be flat on the floor and Cole would be free to do as he pleased. But he had missed his chance about fifteen minutes ago, when Piper moved in for the kill and now he would have to resort to drastic measures to remove her.

And the very thought of hurting her made his heart lurch in his chest.

It was unsettling to realize he had come to care for this woman so much… that he would put her and Phoebe at the same level, that the safety of one was not more important than the safety of the other. When had this happened? When had Piper – and Paige, and Leo as well, he noted with a start – crawled under his thick skin and managed to make him care for them?

The mercenary in him, still alive despite years of ignoring him, rebelled against the thought. To care about people, about **mortals** no less, meant weakness. He was offering himself up to his old brothers, giving them carte blanche to strike him if they so pleased. All they had to do was hurt one of these people, and he would be done…

He shook his head. Things were so much simpler when there were no relationships to speak of. But then Phoebe had come up, and she had worked his way into his heart, flinging the door wide open for her family to step through as well. And now it was already too late… they were a part of him, and that same love that made him want to shimmer into the Underworld and release her soul from eternal torment was the one that kept him stranded in the Halliwell's attic.

"I have to save her."

The words slipped past his suddenly parched lips before he could stop them. What was he doing? Why was he baring his heart and soul to them?

_Because you love them, you old fool_, whispered a voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Phoebe's. This time, it was the demon that roared in anger; refusing to let such human, parasitic emotions contaminate him. But the damage was already done, and something in Cole snapped into place, some latch he had kept half-opened as some dark, evil part of him still refused to be completely consumed.

The wave of emotions washed over him and was enough to make him stumble back. Piper was clinging to him so hard she fell back too, and as his arms came around to hold her up, Cole realized that indeed, there was nowhere else he could be right now.

Desperation made Piper incredibly strong, and he could hear the frantic beating of her heart as she grappled with him to assert a stronger hold on him. She still feared for his safety, feared that he would let his feelings for Phoebe overcome his own well-being.

She need not worry anymore.

He had been incredibly selfish, he thought as he held Piper's hands in his own with exquisite tenderness, brushing his thumbs against her knuckles until the motion cut through the haze of anguish that had grabbed hold of the witch and she looked up at him. Incredibly selfish, he thought again, putting his own needs above hers. Above theirs, he amended, because they were a family.

"Piper", he said, and her name came out like a prayer, reverent and feverish, "relax."

It was as if that one word was what Piper had been waiting for, because her body relaxed almost instantly, tension rolling off of her shoulder like a heavy cloak. A deep breath fell from her lips and the tears fell, tears Cole hadn't even realized were there.

"Please", was all Piper could say before her legs gave out from under her and she fell against him. He cradled her against him, holding her tight, saying all the things he couldn't say out loud with that simple pressing of their bodies together.

She was rocked by hard, desperate sobs and her fingers clutched at his shirt like talons. If her fingernails had been but a hairsbreadth longer they would've cut across the cloth and into his skin, and that more than anything was what prompted him to speak: "I'm not going anywhere."

He truly meant it. He would not leave Piper and Paige behind to save Phoebe… going into the Underworld now, with a magical conflux wreaking havoc in the demon world, would mean certain death. And what would the Halliwells do if he were gone? With the Power of Three out of

commission, who would defend them against the swarms of demons that would come for them? It wasn't pride that made him feel like their proverbial knight—it was the certainty that they needed him. It was a simple fact of life: right now, with the emotional turmoil rampaging their psyches, Cole was their best chance at survival.

And as much as it pained him to even think about his dear Phoebe's soul trapped by the Source's dark magic, he would not go in blind and risk failing all **three** of the Halliwells. He would wait, form a plan, and kill that bastard as slowly and as painfully as he could make it. Just not right now.

Someone shifted beside him and he looked up to find himself gazing into Paige's chocolate eyes. She was kneeling to his left; her full lips just scant inches from his own. For a moment there, he thought she was going to kiss him; the feeling soon passed as she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder and cried. Suddenly with two weeping women coming to him for comfort, Cole was struck by a sudden burst of discomfort: surely there were other people better suited for dealing with grief!

As if summoned by his thoughts, Leo appeared to his right and both men locked eyes above the two witches, and for some reason unknown, Cole couldn't help himself: "If you break down on me, I swear to God I'll scream."

His attempt at dry humor dispelled some of the anguish in the air, and when Paige rose to her knees again, there was a quivering smile on those full lips. "You're just that good of a handkerchief, Cole."

Her voice shook and the tears still fell, but he knew progress when he saw it. Even Piper managed a small smile, and as Cole transferred her from his lap and towards Leo, the older witch cast a sad glance at his chest: "Sorry about that… I'll wash it for you."

Cole was about to tell her there was no need to when a strange feeling settled upon him. His senses flared to life and he had but one moment to shout a warning to Leo before he grabbed Paige and rolled her under him. The air above them shimmered, intense heat burning the air and then the fireball was upon them.

Paige screamed, deafening him, but she was safe: trapped under his bigger, heavier body, the scalding heat of the fireball didn't touch her as it flew past them and right into the Book of Shadows. The explosion that followed rocked the entire house and Cole scanned the room frantically, searching for the fireball's origin.

For a moment there, Cole caught something. The faint traces of anguish lingered in the air, almost like expensive perfume will remain long after the user has left. But was it related to tonight's events? It was hard to tell. So many evils had come and gone through this house, leftover emotions were bound to be present. Still, something called to him and he tried to grasp that feeling but it fled through his fingers like water. He caught a final whiff of sadness and a half-whispered _'I'm sorry'_ and then the connection broke.

There was nothing.

He was doing a second sweep of the manor, expanding his powers to sense any intruders, when Piper's screech called his attention back to the attic.

"The Book!"

The first thing Cole saw was pages. Dozens of them, floating down towards the rug. Several of them were still burning, he thought distantly with dawning horror as he realized that whatever it was, this new threat had damaged the Book of Shadows. And judging by the amount of parchment-like pages slowly descending towards the floor, the damage was severe.

The second thing he saw, was that the Book had been knocked down from its perch and now lay open on the floor. There were faint trails of smoke rising from it, the final confirmation Cole needed to know that the otherwise sentient Book had been unable to escape the fireball that had nearly burned them all.

The third thing he saw was what made him stop in mid crouch, halfway standing and halfway down. There was a baby lying by the Book, tiny limbs flaying about. And then sound came roaring back and the shrill noise of the baby's cries pierced his ears.

Beside him, Paige rolled on her stomach, instincts making her remain on the floor. A small target was less of a target; Cole had taught her that all those months ago, when he had incorporated her into his training sessions with Phoebe.

A few feet to his left, Piper and Leo were rising up as well, and Cole saw that Leo was favoring his left leg. He caught the sweet, vaguely nauseating scent of burnt human flesh and made a mental note to make sure Paige healed him later.

Right now, their priority was that—that baby. He tried sensing it, but all his magic probes bounced back and as he helped Paige up, he wondered just what the hell was going on. Before he could warn them, though, Piper moved closer to the tiny girl. By the time Cole had said her name, the witch was already kneeling by the burnt remains of the Book of Shadows, a strange look in her face.

After making sure Paige was all right – and despite her still looking a little green around the edges, she seemed to be just fine – Cole went to stand beside Piper, resisting the urge to kneel down as well. All along, the baby cried, her tiny face scrunched with effort as she bawled her lungs out.

Cole had never really been this close to babies—not while they had been alive, anyway. He pushed back the bitter memory of some of his less stellar assignments back in the day; almost fifty years ago, it had been a common practice to murder entire families of witches. Men, women and children— especially the children. The Source did not want teens bent on revenge coming after him years later, so Belthazor's electric bolts had struck many innocents on their time.

But now, watching the tiny bundle of sheets cry as if the world was coming to an end, something in Cole's heart reached out to her, something he hadn't even known was there. He caught himself about to reach down and stroke a tiny cheek, and that's when he realized he had yet to find the origin of the fireball.

He drew back; afraid… what was it about this baby that made his mind wander? He should know better than to let himself be distracted like that! What if the demon responsible for the almost-destruction of the Book was still around? What if this baby was just a ploy to make them lower their defenses, attack them while they all lay besotted with the strange child?

Shaking his head, he fought against the new instincts flowing through his very veins.

_Pick her up_, his mind was saying, _pick her up and the crying will stop. _

How did he know such things? How did he, a demon born and bred in the Underworld, understand that all the baby wanted was to be held? And how could he, the great Belthazor, possibly feel such things towards a small girl he had never even met?

He was so focused on his own inner struggle that he never even noticed Piper leaning down and picking the baby up. Just as he had known it would, the crying slowed down as Piper began rocking the small body back and forth, and then stopped entirely as the first strings of a lullaby fell from her lips.

"Piper, maybe we shouldn't—"

Leo's face and tone were worried. Cole could relate. But before either he or Leo could finish voicing their concerns, Piper rose, taking the baby with her, and balancing her in her arms asked them: "Leo, look at her. How can something so beautiful be evil?"

A thousand cautionary tales sprung to mind, but Paige beat Cole to the punch: "Piper, hello! Snake? Apple? Hot but unsanitary grapevine loincloths?" But despite her words, Paige's voice was uncertain. There was nothing evil about this baby, Cole thought, and she **was** one of the most beautiful babies he had ever seen…

The small child made a sound and before he knew it, Cole was picking up his jacket and handing it to Piper to cover the baby with. As he moved, the baby seemed to notice him for the first time, and Cole found himself the target of piercing blue eyes.

_She reminds me of someone_, he mused, feeling the pull of those cobalt depths. They weren't baby eyes, that much he knew: there was a world of knowledge in them, and he suddenly wanted to know everything **she** knew. It was as if this baby held a secret, a secret Cole would kill to learn… The feeling passed, but the certainty remained: this was no ordinary girl.

"Cole, are you all right?"

He looked up to find both Piper and the small girl staring at him. Both had mirror-questioning looks, so much so that he was suddenly struck by the similarity between them. Was it like this with all children, he asked himself, do they mimic everything the adults do?

As if listening to her thoughts, the baby's tiny hands grabbed hold of a lock of Piper's long hair and began sucking on it, and just like that Piper and Paige began talking about baby bottles and diapers and God knows what else. So when Cole answered, his words were nearly drowned out by the Halliwell's prater: "Yeah, I—I just—I feel like I should know her."

Everyone fell silent. Just like that, everyone was reminded that this was a baby that had literally appeared out of thin air. That alone was enough to tell them she was not human… but what she did next erased the last of their doubts.

The baby looked at Cole, her bright blue eyes like beacons in the darkness, and she stretched out a tiny hand towards Cole. He jumped back as if struck, as a sudden wave of power seemed to pour from the baby and towards him. He gasped at the sheer intensity of the magic and three other quick breaths soon echoed him as Leo and the girls felt it too.

"Oh my Goddess."

He didn't know who said it—the voice was too throaty and low for him to properly identify it. But it pretty much summed up his reaction: this baby was powerful, incredibly powerful.

_Perhaps even more so than the Source himself_, whispered a treacherous voice in the back of his mind, and it sounded like Belthazor. And he made the connection. Was this what Penny Halliwell had warned them all about? Was this what she meant by the 'commotion of magical forces'? A child?

But… there were so many buts. So many questions. Who were her parents? What was her heritage? She had to come from a line of incredibly powerful beings to possess such power. Even now, barely a few hours old – and again, Cole wondered how he knew such things– her magic was strong enough to intoxicate all four of them. Who knew what level of power she would reach as she grew up!

Mind reeling with the implications of it, Cole panicked. If they had felt it, then so had those in the Underworld— what if the Source was coming for her?

Again sensing his thoughts, the baby gurgled and suddenly the power faded out. Like a switch turned off the power vanished from whence it came, and there were no trails to follow it home. Could the baby call on her magic at will? And if so, how did she seem to understand how (and when) to do it?

Apparently tired of his scrutiny, the baby's face wrinkled and she began crying again, extending tiny arms towards him. "Aww, isn't that sweet?" Piper said while bouncing the baby up and down to try and soothe her, "She wants you to hold her."

She offered the baby to Cole but he just shook his head. "No, Piper. I don't think I can."

There was fear in Cole's eyes. But it wasn't fear of the baby herself—it was something else.

As Belthazor, he had cut a bloody swath through many generations of humans: murder and destruction at the tip of his fingers, he had ended more lives that he dared to remember. Now Piper was offering him the epitome of innocence just like that… a newborn baby on his bloodstained hands. It just wasn't right.

Piper approached him, baby in hand. Cole wanted to step back, step away from them both. How could Piper expect him to accept it? She didn't know about his past, she didn't know about the people he had slaughtered, the families he had killed! He sought Piper's eyes, beseeched her to stop it, to take the baby as far away from him as she could—but then he saw something in those chocolate depths that he had not expected.

Understanding.

Piper knew. She knew about all of it. Cole was brought back to a day long ago, when Piper's own grief had brought her into the hands of the Furies and then his blood had called her vengeance back to the manor. Piper had looked into his heart that day, looked into the darkest, deepest places of him just so she could take the most evil of his doings and force him to relive them… she remembered all of it? All this time, she had known about it? And knowing about it, she had welcomed him into her home?

Unparalleled gratefulness spread through him and he looked at the young witch with newfound respect. Piper said nothing, just offered him a small smile of complicity and the tiny girl in her arms.

Perhaps it was the way the baby cried, all wrinkled and desperate. Or perhaps it was the expectation on Piper's face, that encouraging glow that made Cole receive the baby. Maybe it was a combination of both, and the certainty that he could never deny anything to a Halliwell woman. Whatever the case, as his strong, big hands wrapped around the tiny body something in his heart began to melt, some shell that up until then had prevented him from really healing.

The tall demon and the small baby locked eyes and time seemed to stop. She stopped crying and Cole stopped breathing and the world faded away as they stood in the attic of the Halliwell manor. Some sort of link snapped into place with an almost audible sound and Cole came back to his body gasping for breath. Seemingly satisfied with what she had seen, the baby girl burrowed comfortably in Cole's arms and promptly fell asleep.

It was a strange picture. Cole was a tall man by human standards... his frame of 6'2'' towered above the girls and even Leo. And now, with such a small bundle in his arms—one thought made its way into Paige, Piper's and Leo's minds.

Picture perfect.

"She fell asleep", Cole whispered and there was awe in his voice. As if he couldn't possibly fathom that someone would feel safe enough in his presence to fall asleep while in his arms. The baby breathed softly against his chest, and the sound of her tiny heart was like heaven's bells to his ears.

"What do you think her name is?"

Leo moved closer to Cole, watching with curious eyes as the baby slept, uncaring of the happenings going on around her. He didn't comment on the tears brimming Cole's eyes, honoring some ancient unspoken male-to-male bond.

"Prue."

The name fell from his lips before he even had time to process it. Again, that sense that he knew everything about this child tickled at the edge of his mind, fluttering gaily like a butterfly in spring. It fled soon after, but somehow the certainty that her name was exactly that remained.

"She reminds me of Prue", he repeated, somehow needing to explain himself.

At the sound of his voice the baby stirred a bit, as if acknowledging her own name.

Nobody said anything. What could they say? What could they possibly say that would make sense? So instead they just nodded in acquiescence, because giving this magical, perfect baby the name of their older sister was an honor they all felt she deserved.

Prue it was, then.

And that was how the latest addition to the Halliwell family came into their lives.

* * *

. 

She was huddled in a corner of the dark chamber, away from the few flickering candles, as much into the dark as she could get. Hidden from sight, because for the life of her she could not show her face to the world.

Not after what she had done.

She rocked back and forth silently, her eyes closed, her lips tight, trying to become invisible, forgotten—it was useless. Everyone she looked at, everywhere she turned there were a hundred accusing faces, a hundred accusing voices. _Murderer_, they shouted, _murderer_!

There was a welcomed numbness slowly spreading through her, the kind of detachment that comes after your mind can no longer take the weight of your acts. She felt herself becoming distant, disconnected from her own body and she let herself go. And then, as if called forth by her own tears, her baby's laugh echoed around the chamber, a vivid memory of the seconds before the fireball had struck.

Ashes, ashes and dust on the floor—that was all that remained of her baby, she wailed, ashes and blood.

Something in her was taking pleasure in making sure she did not pass out. Some sadistic part of her – probably the Source's blood, she thought – was making sure she remained conscious. It kept her awake so she could replay the scene over and over again in her head, watch herself kill her own **daughter. **

_Prue_, she thought, and the name brought a thousand memories of a sister long gone. They forced a small sound from her throat. It was a pained sob, a vocalization of the agony eating her from the inside.

Prue had died because of her—because she had been too weak, too slow, and too stupid to save her.

It didn't take her long to notice she did not know who she was thinking about: her dead sister or her dead daughter. Did it matter, really? One way or the other, she was the reason they were dead, wasn't she? If she hadn't remained in the Underworld with Cole she would've been there to chant the spell against Shax. If she hadn't let Sykes kidnap her, she would've given birth to Prue on the surface. If she hadn't made so many foolish decisions, her family would still be alive!

A high, piteous sound fell from her lips. Like a wounded animal she curled tighter against the wall, and that was when the Source flamed in.

The room grew cold, that cold that seeps into your bones and freezes your breath, the cold that makes your teeth chatter and your knees wobble—the cold that only fear can bring. He was angry—no, he was furious, shadows lashing about like whips as his magic slipped from his tightly controlled mind in his wrath.

Good.

She wanted him angry. Wanted him furious: wanted him to rage and snarl, temper flaring until he could no longer tell up from down. Maybe if she got him mad enough he would kill her, and death seemed like a nice respite. The oblivion it brought, the quiet shadow of death, was something she coveted right now, but she needed **him** for that. He had made sure his blood would not let her die by her own means. Even that choice he had taken from her.

"What did you do?"

His voice fell over her like heavy rain, drizzling up and down her skin like a swarm of insects. She shivered in response and fear rose like a howling beast, erasing all thought and logic from her mind. She struggled to find the words, forced them past her lips: "I killed her."

The Source said nothing for a long while, and she wondered if she had pushed him too far. Could one break the ultimate evil? A giggle echoed around the room, sharp and hard and insane, and she realized that maybe **she** was the one broken… after all, those who are crazy are the last to realize they are mad, aren't they?

She dared to look up, to gaze into the darkened hood that hid the Source's face, and it was as if that simple motion unlocked the gates of his anger. His power slammed into her like a freight train, throwing her body back and forcing a scream from her lips.

"How dare you, witch!"

She did not fight him. There was nothing left for her to fight **for**, and truth to be told, there was really nothing she could have done. So she just stood there, drawn up by the Source's power, and allowed him to crush her with his magic. Her vision swam, and a strange smile danced across her face as she realized that Jhiera was finally getting her wish. She was going to die now, and join Prue in the afterlife…

Something registered across the worlds of pain. Something sharp and painful, cutting across her brain—mind probes, she realized, and this time the screams turned into high shrieks as the Source's power ran her mind over. She struggled, fought for breath, panic rising within her until she could no longer stop herself. Why was she so adamant that the Source did not read her thoughts? What was hiding there that he could not ever see?

She never found out, because it was at that point that her entire body shut down.

She was unconscious before she hit the floor. She never heard the Source laughing.

Which, when one thought about it, was much scarier than when he was not laughing. At his feet, Phoebe's form still twitched occasionally as the aftereffects of the mind-rape struggled to make their way out of her body. Such a fragile thing, humans were, the Source thought, barely casting a glance at the female body. So easy to break—the witch would never know how careful he had been with her. Even in his anger, in his need to destroy and kill her; he had held his power back lest he truly and completely vanquished her from this world.

Reading her mind was surprisingly easy: he was uncertain whether it was a result of the blood-link or simply the fact that the witch was in no condition to fight him. As it was, it didn't really matter: her thoughts were displayed to him like the pages of an open book, ready and primed for the taking. He went through her memories slowly, leisurely, confident that in her plight she could not stop him.

He saw the birth of her daughter, watched as she cried and screamed, trying to keep quiet for her daughter's sake. Watched as she almost bled herself to death, and smiled when his power began healing her wounds. If he hadn't bonded with her, she would be dead now. And he would have lost two great warriors.

He cried out in anger as he watched the witch put the baby down and then blast her with a fireball. But he saw something else… just moments before the fireball hit her, the baby did something… the air around her wavered like a desert mirage, quivered as power mounted and then she—the child had shimmered away!

Shocked, the Source retreated from the witch's mind, letting her rest. She made a small sound, a cross between a whimper and a groan, and the Source threw his head back and laughed. Oh, the magic of this child was amazing! The things he could do with her, the heights he could reach with them both by his side… it was almost enough to drive him insane with glee.

And the sweetest thing of all was his witch knew nothing of this last event. For her, her daughter was well and truly dead… hmm, the possibilities were interesting. With the disappearance of the child, Phoebe had lost the very last of her bonds to the human world. This opened a new world of options for him: now, she really had no reason whatsoever to try and remain good.

He didn't bother trying to track the brat's shimmer. Something told him the child could easily cover her tracks, and truth to be told, was there ever any doubt as to where she went? To her father's side, of course, and those witches as well: in the end, everything turned to them, didn't it? So, his little experiment had fled from his grasp… he would just have to get it back, then. But now, to make sure Phoebe would never forget what had transpired today.

He approached her limp form and took delight in the shiver than ran down her spine. Even while unconscious her body rebelled against his—what a delicious combination she made, he thought as he began prodding at her mind once more, with a blackened soul and such beautiful skin.

His voice hissed around the room like a thousand snakes, a language that resembled English and yet wasn't. Magic always worked better when the spells were spoken in the ancient languages, he knew, and that was why he let his words fall on her slowly, his poison dripping into her every crevice and nook.

"It's their fault", he began, his long fingers brushing a strand of hair away from her face. It was a tender gesture, but his fingers left bloody trails upon her cheek. Always blood between them, wasn't it?

The witch stirred, fighting her way back from slumber. He let her.

She blinked, slowly, lazily and her right hand flew to her face, cupping her injured cheek. She said nothing about the blood, and even if she had, the Source wouldn't have bothered to answer her. All she needed to know was what he wanted her to know: so he continued, unheeding of her shallow breathing and wide eyes.

"They put you through this. They sent you here."

She was confused, he could tell. His power had nearly crushed the life out of her; his outburst was bound to have consequences. It didn't matter: he was speaking to her heart, not to her ears. She would listen to him because that was what he wanted her to do. No matter how confused, how lost she may be, she would listen to his voice and believe.

"They didn't rescue you."

She shook her head. The Source just smiled. She still had fire in her, didn't she? Good. He liked his toys with a little spark—if he wanted mindless minions, there were millions of them living in the dark shadows of the Underworld. No, he didn't want servants: he wanted warriors.

"If they had not forgotten about you, your daughter would still be alive."

She raised her eyes to him as if struck. Eyes no longer vacant but full of angst and everything that was the Source delighted in her plight. He could see the changes going on behind her eyes, could see the storms brewing inside those depths. The Source was a master at manipulation: strange that with just the truth he could do much more damage that any lie he could ever concoct.

Even before **she** was aware of what was going on, the Source knew what she was thinking. Humans were all alike—always looking up for something to believe in. Always looking for faith in even the strangest of places, and Phoebe was no different. She was looking at him with liquid, limpid eyes, with that hope that higher powers will make the troubles go away.

The Source fought back the laughter that threatened to come forth. He had been called many things, but this was the first time anyone – or anything – had given him such a look. _Save me_, the witch was saying, and he marveled at the twists and turns of the mortal minds. For someone to think of him as his or her savior was ludicrous! That the witch would place such utter trust in him spoke volumes of his control over her and he landed the final blow with surgical precision.

"Remember who your enemies are, Phoebe."

She shook her head again, her long, brown hair hiding her face. The torches flickered as something was called to life, some ancient power that grew within her, feeding on their link. The Source took a step back, not in fear but in awe as she rose, unseen wind flicking her hair back and forth.

She should have looked weak: blood had dried on her thighs and her cheek, and her nightgown was torn in several places. She should have been broken, a shell of a human being. Instead, she rose with power born of hatred, strength she had never experienced before coursing through her limbs.

The Source drank in her power, folding it around him like a cloak. Yes, yes! This was what he had glimpsed in her that very first time they had met, all those months ago! This was what he had been working so hard to achieve… this enormous fountain of power was finally his!

She opened her eyes, and in the flickering candlelight, they shone black. Pitch black, like bottomless pits, sucking the light from the air around them.

"My name is Phax."

She murmured something under her breath and her clothing shifted, vanished and finally changed. Dressed entirely in black she looked like a fallen angel, the Source thought, a vengeance demon to do as he pleased.

He nodded, satisfied with her response. And she kneeled at his feet, presenting her respects: what an alluring picture she made, with her newfound strength granting her poise she had lacked before. She even looked—beautiful.

Shaking his head to rid it from such thoughts, the Source thrust his last stab home. And with every word he spoke, Phax's lips hardened into a thin line and black fire burned in her black eyes.

"Indeed. You are now Phax, my personal assassin. You have taken your rightful place by my side, as you were meant to do. Soon you shall enjoy your revenge, my dear: soon your family will pay."

As Phax rose, the Source began laughing, years of cunning plans finally culminating in the warrior now standing before him. You see, when Phax had had her premonition, right after Prue had been born, there had been one thing she had overlooked. She was so sure Prue would be turned, so convinced she would become a monster; she never really took a good look at the face of the woman in her premonition. She had just assumed it had been Prue, because in her mind, who else could it be?

Maybe if she had taken a closer look, the chain of events she had unleashed could've been prevented. Because the woman in her premonition was no other than herself.

* * *

. 

Tbc...


	9. Healing and Hurting

_** Change of Heart **_

Chapter 9: _Healing and Hurting_

by Lilian

lilian413 at yahoo dot com

Author's Notes: Thank you everyone who took the time to congratulate me on my acceptance: I am now officially a graduate student! And with that in mind, I give you today's chapter, along with a small gift that should arrive right on the heels of this one!

To all my readers, your reviews make the happiest girl on earth: I'm glad you're enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it!

* * *

. 

Piper loved the way Prue smelled. It was that baby-smell, of powder and lilacs and innocence, and as she buried her face in the small baby's neck, she thought she had never smelled something quite like it before.

It was a scent that brought back memories of a childhood long past, of days spent with her own mother, as few and scarce as they were. That's why she loved spending time with the small girl; they had become quite the picture, the two of them, moving around the house as if joined at the hip.

While Piper folded towels and tops and the like, Prue sat upon her and Leo's bed, clapping her hands to a silent song.

"My, aren't we happy today?" Piper asked her, putting the blouse she had been folding on Paige's pile and moving on to the next item in the basket, "something you want to share with me?"

Prue shook her head – or so Piper liked to believe: many of the things Prue did couldn't really be explained, but at times, it seemed she really **did** understand everything they said – and smiled a toothless grin. Wearing nothing but a pink pair of diapers, she was the epitome of what a baby was supposed to look like… but, Piper thought, catching a glimpse of the scorch mark in the wall behind her, there were things about the small girl that were anything but normal.

Setting the pair of black jeans to the side, she picked up a light blue towel and began stretching it out on the bed.

"Da!" Prue squealed, tiny, chubby finger pointing at the towel the way a child will point to her new favorite toy. Piper smiled at her, shook her head, and kept on folding: "No Prue, not dad. Cole. This is Cole's towel."

'Da', for some reason, had become Prue's favorite way to address Cole, and no matter how hard they tried, she was set on calling him that. It was amazing how even after it had gone through the washing machine, Prue was able to identify exactly what items from the laundry basket belonged to Cole. But, thinking about it, it wasn't really amazing—it was just another reflection of the connection between Prue and Cole, something that had surprised all of them time and time again.

After Prue had first arrived at the Halliwell manor, it had been decided that she would sleep in Piper and Leo's room. It was only natural, of course, for the only married couple in the premises to keep watch over the young girl. Prue had other plans, though. After the fourth morning they woke to find Prue gone, only to find her deeply asleep upon Cole's chest afterwards, they realized that no matter what they did, Prue was more comfortable sharing a room with the half-demon that she was with them.

So the crib was moved, and Cole didn't get any more morning surprises. It had taken a while before Cole had gotten used to it – he had been alone for so long, and had very strict nocturnal habits, Piper knew – but things were smoothing down now, falling back into that place that was neither complete disaster not total peace.

Piper liked it there. Her life would be very boring if it was completely peaceful, she mused, but it was also nice to have a respite from the never-ending apocalypse events that occurred in the San Francisco magical world. That thought brought a question forth: was San Francisco the New York to all things magical because of their presence there, or was it the other way around? Had her family been brought to the City by the Bay because of the magical forces operating there or were they responsible for them?

Prue cooed, breaking her train of thought. She was waving a pacifier around, tiny fingers curled with surprising strength around the handle. Watching her move the tiny toy about, Piper was struck with a sudden bout of sadness. Already an orphan, at such a young age… Piper knew Prue's parents were dead. Why hadn't they come for her, if they weren't?

Prue wasn't her daughter, Piper knew – although sometimes, she couldn't help but search her pudgy face for traces of Melinda, the daughter she had met in the future all those years ago – but Piper could not bear the thought of leaving her. That was why she was certain the baby's true parents were long gone, torn from the baby's side by forces stronger than they could fight: if she, a total stranger to the girl's life, had already fallen in love with her, how had her parents felt, caring for her for nine months or so?

Cole had told them at least **one** of Prue's parents had to be demonic. It had been an easy thing to spot, and even if Cole had not said anything, they were all beginning to suspect the truth. How could the tiny girl shimmer, unless there was demonic ancestry in her heritage? And that fireball—Piper shuddered. The night Prue had come into their lives had been a chaotic one. They had learned Phoebe's soul was still within the Source's clutches, that the Elders had lied to them about it and that a conflux of magical forces was about to go off in the Underworld.

And then, just when the shock of the horrific revelations had begun wearing out, Prue had arrived, riding on the back of a burning fireball that had struck the Book of Shadows and almost destroyed it. The fact that the Book had been unable – or unwilling... Piper didn't know which option upset her more: that the Book hadn't been able to defend itself or that it hadn't **wanted** to – to protect itself from the blast didn't worry Piper as much as the idea that there was a power out there that was strong enough to harm the Book. That meant they were dealing with a new kind of enemy, the likes of which they had never faced before.

To top it all, they now had a new innocent to protect.

As if listening to her thoughts, Prue stopped playing with the teething ring she was currently sucking on and looked at her with questioning eyes. For a few heartbeats, Piper looked back at her and seemed to loose herself in the baby's eyes. There was a secret lurking there, she knew, a secret the baby knew and was happy to keep concealed. And at times like these, Piper got the strong feeling it was a secret she wanted, no, that she **needed** to know. But, like always, Prue smiled a big, toothless grin at her and broke the connection before Piper was able to find out anything else.

Watching the child get back to her antics, Piper let her hands grip the edge of the laundry basket. Yes, they had Prue to protect now. How many demons had come for her already? Piper had stopped counting after the ninth attempt. She still remembered the first time, thought: it was burnt into her mind with fire and pain.

Her left hand flew to her side, where the skin of her newly healed ribcage still ached now and then. The demon had gotten her fair and square, she knew: she had reacted a second too late, too busy making sure Prue was out of the way of incoming fire… that had been the day they had found out Prue could shimmer, Piper mused, remembering the surprise as she had watched the baby's form dissolve and reappear inside Paige's arms, just an instant before the electric bolt hit her. She didn't remember anything else after that, just that she woke to find a very concerned Leo hovering above her as his magical hands did the trick.

But she **did** remember the fear, the soul searing fear that they had almost gotten Prue. It had been strange for her to realize that it wasn't the fact that the Source would get his scaly hands on a fountain of endless power that terrified her, but the thought of little baby Prue in the Underworld that froze her heart in her chest.

_Strange how priorities change, isn't it?_ Said a voice inside her head, and it sounded like Prue's. The original Prue that is, her sister… her beautiful, brave sister. Piper let the ache of her loss come: she had learned long ago that it was better to ride out the pain than to let it fester inside like a bleeding wound. But somehow, watching Prue roll around the bed like a baby much older than she really was, made the pain hurt a little less.

Come to think of it, there were many similarities between both Prue's. Aside from the physical likeness – both had startling cobalt-blue eyes, although if Piper remembered correctly, her sister's pupils would shine green every now and then; and raven black hair – there was just something about the baby that strongly reminded Piper of her sister. Maybe it was the way they both seemed to look at you with eyes that said '_I know something that you don't'_, or perhaps it was simply the way they both seemed to attract the attention of everyone they met. Whatever it was, they both had it, and Piper was thankful for it. It felt like having a little part of Prue back again, remote a thing as it might be.

She felt rather than saw the air to her left quiver, and her hands flew up in automatic response. Prue, however, simply pointed at the flickering space by the mirror and gurgled: "Da!" Piper smiled, lowering her hands just as Cole's tall, handsome self shimmered in.

"You've got to stop doing that, you know?"

Cole had the grace to look sheepish, something that made him look younger than he really was. He shrugged, broad shoulders rising and falling with ease: "Sorry. Old habit."

They'd had this discussion a hundred times before. And they probably would have it a hundred times more in the future, judging by Cole's lack of real regret at doing it. So, Piper decided, maybe it was time to pull out the big guns.

"What if I was in here changing?"

She continued folding clothing while she spoke, waiting to hear the splutter of disbelief followed by a stammering apology that never came. After a few seconds of silence, interrupted only by Prue's continuous coos and gurgles, she looked up to find Cole looking at her with strange eyes. And then a small smile broke across his face, and a twinkle lit in his pupils: "Well, then I'd **really** have something to make Leo jealous with."

Piper's jaw fell open at that. Cole's grin just turned a little wider before he bent down and poked Prue in the nose. The baby laughed in response, her tiny hands batting at his finger.

Looking at them and her mind still reeling with what had just happened, Piper let the shirt she had been trying to fold fall from her hands and instead watched the two. For a man who claimed to never have had any contact with children, Cole really knew how to handle them. Or handle Prue, at least, since Piper had never really seen him around other babies. He seemed to know exactly what to do to make Prue smile—it was as if he really **understood** what Prue needed, as if he spoke the same language she did.

Some small, bitter part of her asked if Cole was entitled to be smiling when Phoebe was still trapped in the Underworld. The thought brought back darker, worse memories and dampened her mood some—indeed, what right did they have to be enjoying themselves when Phoebe still suffered at the hands of the Source? Why was she even wasting her time in needless, mundane tasks such as folding the laundry when there were demons to be vanquished and deaths to be avenged?

_Because if you don't, you'll drive yourself crazy_, said the same voice from before, and this time Piper could **swear** she heard Prue huff in frustration. Such vivid recollections were not unusual for her – she thought it had something to do with her dead relatives not being **completely** dead, in the human, prosaic sort of way – but they were coming more and more often lately. And they were working: the explanation chased the edge of the anguish away.

Indeed, it had been agreed upon that with Prue in the house, they could not spare man (or woman) power to release Phoebe—not if it meant leaving Prue unprotected and at the mercy of the bounty hunters that were coming from out of the woodwork these days. That, as much as it pained them to do so, meant Phoebe would have to wait until the worst of it was over, until they had found a way to ensure Prue's safety – a way that didn't mean the four of them had to be around her twenty-four/seven, that is – before they could rescue her.

They had done **something**, though. With the help of Penny, they had cast a spell upon Phoebe's soul: one to make sure that even if the Source still held her captive, he could not harm her in any way. They had tried teleporting Phoebe's soul from the Underworld, but all of their attempts had bounced back, powerless against the Source's trappings. So, instead, they worked around it: the Source had certainly cast his own dark magic to protect Phoebe's soul from them. They just took that and ran with it, re-enforcing the Source's own magic with their own until not even he could touch it. It had been quite entertaining to use the evil overlord's own powers to keep him from what he wanted the most, and Piper truly thought the irony had not been lost to the bastard.

So, for now, Phoebe – or more accurately, Phoebe's soul – remained in the Underworld. But at least she was safe, and Piper didn't have as many nightmares now, thinking about what might be going on down there. She at least had the comfort that her sister, dead but still somehow **living**, was in no imminent danger.

Their main goal now, was to keep Prue away from the Source. Perhaps it had been the spell they had cast, or perhaps the evil son of a bitch just wanted Prue that bad: whatever it was, demons were coming for the baby as if their very lives depended on it. And the baby, for some reason or other, seemed to recognize this as a threat and had the wonderful ability to shimmer away from her potential kidnappers and into safety. Piper shivered: despite all of this, the demons were getting smarter. The last one – or trio of ones, she corrected, remembering there had been three of them this time – had managed to find a way to thwart Prue's shimmering, forcing her to remain helpless in her crib while they approached. Only Cole's timely firebolt had managed to save her, vanquishing the demon closest to her before he could reach down and grab the baby. Piper had blown up the other two, her heart beating so hard in her chest she could've sworn it was ready to come out. She could still hear Prue's desperate cries as she picked her up from the crib, and as she had tried to calm the hysterical baby down, bouncing her up and down in her arms, she had caught sight of Cole's distraught face.

They all knew what it would mean if the Source got a hold of Prue. The baby had power, so much power—and, as Leo had once told them, these powers were neither good nor evil. Just because the girl had a demonic parent did not mean she was necessarily evil: properly raised, she could be a great addition to the forces of good. And even if it pained Piper to think that this lovely, sweet young girl would grow up to live a life of war between Good and Evil, she knew there was no other way it could be. That was her destiny, as much as it was her family's… providence – or perhaps other, bigger forces – had brought the child to them. That meant they were supposed to guide her, train her, teach her… Prue was the next generation of warriors in this battle, and even now, her incredible power was saying so.

Shaking her head, Piper forced the gloomy thoughts away. Cole turned to look at her, his index finger trapped within Prue's tiny fists as she attempted to suck on it and failed miserably. There were many things she wanted to say to Cole, many things she wanted to share with him, but found any words she could come up with lacking. So instead she just stared at him, letting her eyes speak what her mouth could not. And Cole looked back at her, deep-blue eyes like an ocean of emotions, cresting and crashing with every heartbeat he took.

In the end, Prue accepted defeat and released Cole's finger. Attention back to the tiny girl in the bed, Cole bent down and kissed the top of her head. It was such an intimate gesture, such a tender thing to do it tugged at Piper's heart: they really **did** look like father and daughter, these two… they even had the same eyes…

"Hmm", Cole said, sniffing the air and breaking her concentration, making that last thought flee into the back of Piper's mind, "it smells like someone needs a change."

Piper blinked. And then smiled a wicked grin. Such a good, wonderful opportunity to get back at him for his last innuendo… moving to the side of the bed, she rummaged inside a bag sitting there for this purpose alone and rose back up with a bottle of talcum powder and a fresh diaper in hand.

"Wonderful. It was about time you learned how to do this."

Before Cole could even open his mouth to protest – after all, his allegations that '_the almighty Belthazor does **not** change diapers_' had won him this argument before – Piper raised a hand (the one with the powder, actually) and stopped him: "Nuh uh. No chickening out this time, mister. You are doing this even if I have to summon your sorry butt back here to do it."

When Leo came in about ten minutes later, it was to find a flabbergasted Cole, holding a diaper in one hand and wearing about half of the talcum on his nice black clothes. Prue was giggling like crazy, and Piper was laughing so hard she was clutching the bed's railing for support.

"Need a hand, man?" he asked him, trying **very** hard not to break into a grin and failing. Cole just looked at him with wide, surprised eyes, still unsure of how the white powder had gotten all over him. He shook his head slowly, then muttered something about devilish women and shook himself like a big black cat.

He didn't complain about changing diapers ever again. Although he did try to avoid doing it while Piper was in the room. Paige never really understood why.

* * *

. 

She licked her lips slowly, tasting the coppery taste of her own blood. She grimaced as the wound itched with her saliva, but she welcomed it. One of the first things she had learnt since her true training had began, was to embrace the pain. She now channeled it into her strength, adding it like fuel to a fire. A fire that burned high, as she stared at the demon in front of her.

"Bitch."

Jhiera only smiled at the mild taunt, and brushed some strands of blue-black hair aside.

"Is that all you've got, witch?"

Jhiera would never let go of the fact that Phax wasn't a demon. It seemed like a personal crusade, to constantly remind Phax that no matter how hard she tried, how hard she trained, she would never be able to shed the husk of her humanity. And lately, there had been many opportunities for the purple-eyes demon to do just that.

When the Source found out about their little bitching contests – although, truth to be told, Phax was pretty sure the Source had known all along: he had just chosen this particular moment to tell her – he had bestowed Jhiera with the responsibility of teaching Phax the proper ways of the demon world.

And Jhiera took that dubious honor to heart.

Hence, they were now once again face to face, Jhiera enjoying the bouts a little too much for Phax's taste.

"Bring it on."

Phax concentrated as Jhiera moved in on her. Watching Jhiera fight was an impressive sight—it was not often a female demon made it this high in the Underworld ranks, and Jhiera had the moves to attest to her success. She moved swiftly, efficiently- she was a killing machine, and both women knew it. She wasn't pulling any of her punches, either.

Thankful that she had taken kickboxing lessons back in the day, Phax tried to duck out of the way of Jhiera's incoming hits, and failed miserably. A kick to the knee dislocated the joint, and while she was going down, a perfectly executed uppercut sent her flying into the wall behind her. Strangely, the pain of her suffering body did not hurt as much as the one from her wounded pride.

Spitting out a glob of blood that had pooled in her mouth, she rose on shaky legs, using the rocky-wall for support. Steadying herself, she put all of her weight on her injured leg and set the bone straight. Her pained shout was short and sharp, but as it echoed around the training chamber, she saw Jhiera's fangs gleaming in the darkness.

"Such a screamer, Phax. I wonder if you screamed like this when you were in Belthazor's bed."

The younger woman seethed. Teeth grinding and hands fisting, she forced the healing magic forth, hurrying it until she could stand on her own two legs again. "Shut. Up", she managed to say in between heavy breaths, but Jhiera's grin just turned wider.

"Aaah, you did? How wonderful—" Her voice died down and almost turned into a yelp as a fireball whizzed past her, missing her left ear by inches. Phax's hand was still stretched out towards when Jhiera turned back to look at her, something akin to surprise dancing in her features.

"My, my", Jhiera recovered quickly, but Phax could see a tiny spark of fear in her eyes, and it gave her an immense sense of accomplishment to see it, "someone's touchy tonight."

Phax did not answer. Her hand fell slowly to her side, but the fingers continued to twitch every now and then, a testament to the power that lived in her veins. It seemed that with every fireball she called forth, the next one came a little easier—soon, she wouldn't need Jhiera's goading to fire them at all. Soon, she would be able to call them at will.

Both women faced each other across the training chamber, the flickering torches adding shadows to their faces in what seemed to be an endless dance. For a long while neither of them said a word, and only their labored breaths broke the eerie silence of the room. And then, as if Jhiera had found what she was looking for, the female demon threw her head back and laughed. A loud, sudden laugh that made goose bumps break out upon Phax's skin but also enticed a chuckle of her own.

As their voices died down, the silence that remained was loaded with tension, but noticeable lighter than it had been before. It occurred to Phax that maybe they had reached some sort of agreement, a sorority of sorts in the male-dominated Underworld. After all, she had been in this place for almost a year and she had yet to see another female upper class demon—

Almost as if answering Phax's unspoken question, Jhiera undid her hair – which she had kept up in a ponytail during their sparring match – and asked: "Do you know why I hate you?"

Phax paused, whatever clever remark she had ready dying at her lips. What as she supposed to say? Recovering from the shock of Jhiera's sudden mood swing, Phax shrugged. "Because you're a psychotic, spiteful crone?" The insult felt good, it felt right—for a moment, it looked as if Jhiera's temper was about to get the best of her, but in the end, the she-devil shook herself like a big black cat and smiled sweetly: "It takes one to know one, I guess."

This time, it was Phax's turn to grin. Her hat was off to Jhiera: she sure knew how to handle herself in a verbal match just as well as she did in the sparring ground. Producing a knife out of thin air, Jhiera traced the edge of the blade with her fingers, playing with the handle as she did so. "Do you, then?"

Curiosity piqued, Phax shook her head. Truth to be told, she had always wondered if there was something else behind Jhiera's utter antagonism for her… surely her continuous anger towards her could not be the result of simple jealousy! And if Jhiera was offering her a chance to understand, well, who was she to pass it up?

The athame looked dangerous, glinting in the torchlights as the demoness twisted it this way and that. The movement seemed almost—hypnotic, and it was soon that Phax found herself mesmerized by the gleaming blade, her hands falling down her sides and her stance relaxing despite the warnings going off in her head. Sure enough, a few heartbeats before she would have lowered her head, Jhiera threw her hand back and the athame sliced through the air, cutting Phax's right arm in the process.

The younger woman hissed in pain as her skin parted, red blood gushing forth. Her left hand flew to her wounds, but not before she had shimmered a few steps away.

Still a little nauseated from the teleportation – it was something she still had trouble adjusting to, specially if **she** was the one doing it – she stumbled a little and hissed again as her fingers graced the open gashes upon her forearm.

"That is why", said Jhiera, watching with strange eyes how the blood welled upon Phax's forearm and oozed down her wrist. "You are not kin, and you never will be. You are mortal, witch, and you bleed red. Real demons, true sons and daughters of the Creator, bleed black." They stared at each other for a long while, the anger within Jhiera's eyes burning higher and higher until it rivaled the fires burning all around them.

"No mortal witch will take my place in the Underworld. Not if I can help it!" When the she-demon spoke, her voice quivered with barely controlled rage, but before she could do anything else, Phax summoned a fireball to her left hand. The blood flow had already stopped, but it was quite an impressive sight all the same—orange-blue flames licking at her bloodied fingers like hungry puppies – and it was enough to make Jhiera back off.

"You will live, Phax, at least for today. He wants you alive", the black-haired demon spat, bile riding upon every word, "but one day he won't need you anymore. Watch your back, dear: daddy won't save you next time!"

And with those final words, Jhiera was gone, shimmering away with a laugh.

With an exhausted sigh, Phax let the fireball disappear to whence it came. Despite of what it may look like, summoning those things was draining, and when she had to maintain them for long periods of time, she got tired rather quickly. Had Jhiera remained around for a few more minutes, she would've witnessed the sad, pathetic sight of Phax's fireball snuffing out by itself.

Seething with anger at her own weakness, Phax stared at her crimson stained hand. This was the reason Jhiera had made her life miserable? Because she bled red instead of black? Raising her arm, she watched with narrowed eyes as tiny sparks of electricity went off just above her skin; the Source's magic working at its best, healing her wounds at a dizzying pace. But then her gaze landed on the one scar magic would not heal: the one upon her right palm, the one that marked her blood-link with the Source. The blood from Jhiera's athame wound had pooled there, seeped into the crevice of the slash, and it took Phax a while to realize why she thought it so intriguing.

_True demons bleed black_, Jhiera had said. Black. Not red, but black.

Slowly, she curled her right hand into a fist, feeling the scar tissue upon her palm. That's how she and the Source had become blood-bound, by sharing new blood through their hands. **And it had been red**…

The Source, leader and lord of the Underworld, had human ancestry? He was not a pureblood demon… he had mortal ancestors! What did this discovery mean?

Uncertain of what to do, Phax shook her head. Certainly someone had realized such a thing in the course of the long years the Source had lived—surely someone knew! But—but if they knew, how had they allowed him to continue leading them? How had the demon world, known for its prejudices, allowed a tainted demon to rule them? Unless they didn't know… Phax could certainly believe that the Source had managed to hide his past from the rest of the demons… wasn't he the king of deception, after all? Wasn't he an expert at hiding the truth?

_He is like Belthazor_, she thought, the sudden thought surprising her in its vehemence. _Just like Cole, he bleeds red just like Cole_. Pushing aside the anger and hurt that blossomed whenever his name came up, Phax contemplated the possibilities. Did this mean the Source, like Cole, had a human form as well? She shook her head. No, that couldn't be… wouldn't he have used it after all this time? Wouldn't he have played with her using a human face?

Unless… unless he had tried so hard to suppress that human side of him that he no longer remember how to access it. But how had a half-demon acquired that much power? How did he come to rule the Underworld?

_Because he is smart, my dear, very, very smart_. That voice was unlike any she had ever heard before, but it didn't surprise her—hanging around an insane, murdering bastard was bound to contagious after a while.

A wicked smile curled Phax's lips. If the Source had managed to do it, then she could do it as well: she would succeed in her quest to conquer the respect of other demons, and she would rise upon the ranks of the Underworld. It didn't matter that she had been human once; it didn't matter that her blood ran red. All that mattered was that she had the guts – and the hate – to make it happen.

Head still reeling with this new information, Phax shimmered away to her quarters. She had a lot to think about.

* * *

. 

Paige sighed. It was useless. She had been doing this for almost a week now, and truth to be told, she was beginning to think it was all pointless.

Setting the last of the fried pages aside, she fingered the burned edges of the cover of the Book and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. So much information, lost… countless of pages had been burned to a crisp, and dozens of others had been rendered useless. The pages of the Book were parchment, and it caught fire as if they were wood chips. The fireball had hit with mind-numbing accuracy—Paige shivered at the thought of facing whatever demon had been powerful enough to inflict this kind of damage upon the Book.

_The Book protects itself_, Piper had told her once. Hearing her sister's voice brought back a load of memories, like the time when she had snuck the Book out of the house – by throwing it out of the window, no less – and the ensuing disaster that followed. She remembered clearly how she had tried to photocopy some of its pages, and how every single one of her attempts had ended up with a blank page in her hands.

Yes, in her time as a witch, Paige had come to consider the Book a sort of sentient entity. No, it didn't think for itself, but sometimes, just sometimes, Paige could sense some sort of consciousness coming from it. Indeed, if it could sense evil and protect itself from it, then that spoke of at least some level of awareness… why hadn't it been able to deflect this particular attack, then?

What had been different about this fireball that had not sent up the Books warning signals? Paige tried to recall the vivid scene, but she kept getting strong flashes of Cole's hard, strong body atop of hers, protecting her from the blast. A flush crept up her cheeks and she shook her head. No, now was not the time to be considering such things. Forcing herself to concentrate, Paige closed her eyes and relived that hellish night.

It had all happened so suddenly—too many things, all piled up on top of the other. As if the universe was trying to make sure they sat up and paid attention, it sent them enough curveballs to throw them off balance completely. Phoebe's fate, the Source's plans, that 'magical commotion', Prue, the attack on the Book… it was enough to make her head spin. Running her fingers across the burnt cover of the Book, the green leather now black around the edges, Paige's eyes landed on the broken triquetra, and she couldn't help the small sound of pain that fell from her lips.

Yes, that was the worst of all… that they had left Phoebe behind, tried to re-build their lives while she remained a prisoner of the Underworld, tortured by the Source and who knew how many others! Paige had never been to the Underworld, so there really was no way for her to relate, but she had been near the Source, had felt his shadow fall upon her and she still had nightmares about **that**. Shane wouldn't even come **near** her after what happened, she mused, and with good reason. He had been a vessel for that most evil of evils, and that left scars whether you remembered it or not. Leo's magical dust had erased it from his mind, but nothing could erase such a taint from his soul.

And to think Phoebe was still within that creep's hold—it made the hairs on her arms stand on end. It made her want to kill things, but most of all, it made her sick. But, worst of all, there was also this tiny part of her that was secretly relieved… not at Phoebe's fate, dear Goddess, never that, but a small part of her was glad that it hadn't been **her**. Because it could have been her, it was **supposed** to be her! The Source had wanted to turn her, she knew, ever since he had learned of her existence. And that whole thing with Shane and Mr. Grisanti had all been a ploy to use her window of opportunity, to sway her to the dark side.

A strange giggle came from the back of her throat as the all too familiar term reminded her of an all too familiar movie. Well, Mr. Lucas knew what he was talking about when he wrote that damn thing—he just never wrote about what it meant to fight it every single day of your life. Yes, every day, every waking hour spent fighting the good fight, struggling to keep their heads above water… a battle they were never going to win.

That was the most discouraging thing of all. The certainty that they would never win. There was no way to win—canceling one of the sides of the scale always canceled the other. But it seemed that lately, all they did was lose… when was it the bad guys' time to get some of their butts kicked? When were **they** going to be ones licking their wounds, tail between their legs, doing the 'running for their lives' type of thing?

At least things seemed to be looking up: Prue had been a new addition to their side. Yes, the little baby had come to them at their most desperate hour, hadn't she? And if she turned out to be half as powerful as her already nascent powers heralded her to be, then she would be a magnificent warrior for Good. Perhaps she was the one to even out the scales. Perhaps she was the answer…

"How is it coming?"

Piper's voice startled her out her reverie, so much so that as she jumped a little, the Book slid from her lap and fell to the floor with a low 'thud'. Smiling sheepishly, Paige bent down to pick it up while saying: "Not so good."

The older woman paused in the middle of the attic, taking in the assorted piles of pages arranged in not-so-neat groups all around. Answering her unspoken question, Paige pointed to the pile nearest to her and began explaining: "Total loss. Scorched but readable. Half missing", her finger moved from one pile to the next as spoke, and when she reached the last pile, she shrugged helplessly: "Don't even know where to start with those."

Something akin to pain flashed across Piper's features, and it struck Paige as incredibly endearing. She sometimes forgot Piper had almost four years on her on this witch thing—that she had shared things with the Book Paige had never dreamed of. And that as much as it hurt her, Paige, to see her heritage destroyed, it hurt Piper even more.

Piper knelt by the last pile, the one that Paige hadn't known what to do with, and picked the first of the pages up. Her hand trembled a little as she brought the page up, and a sad smile curled her lips. "Prue wrote this", she said, and it took Paige a moment or two to realize she was talking about her sister, not the baby. Piper chuckled, and it was somewhat choked, as if she was fighting back the tears. Looking at her eyes, Paige decided she was.

Putting the Book aside, she approached Piper and took the page from her hands. It had escaped the worst of the fire, it seemed—why had she put it in the 'Will Deal with It Later' pile? Casting a glance at the words written in it, she instantly knew why. The title was 'To Vanquish Libris', and scribbled underneath, in a lettering that was both elegant and hurried at the same time, a simple spell:

_Demon hide your evil face,  
Libris, die and leave no trace._

Upon finding it, Paige had at first thought it a joke. It was such a simple spell, straight and to the point, devoid of any flowery arrangements whatsoever… it looked almost—bland, when compared to some of the wordiest spells found in the Book. But then again, wasn't this how magic worked best? When directed straight at the target, without any embellishments to distract it on the way? After all, that was usually the way magic backfired: when the witch wasn't experienced or focused enough to realize that there was room for double interpretation and that magic worked anyway it wanted to.

Piper rose next to her, eyes bright and wearing small smile. "She wasn't very good at writing spells", she began, brushing her eyes and forcing the tears back, "We always had Phoebe write them for us."

Paige didn't know what surprised her more: that Prue, the perfect, shinning Prue she had never met but had competed against anyway, was actually **not** good at something or that Piper had brought both dead sisters into the conversation and was still holding it together.

"But it worked. Saved Phoebe's life, nonetheless… I think that's the only reason we were able to convince her to write it into the Book in the first place."

The younger witch looked back at the Book, sitting on the chair she had just vacated. Yes, she had encountered pages written by her sisters' before—it was easy to tell. There were no beautiful, hand-carved drawings on those pages, and the words were written in ink. And well, there was the most obvious page of all… the one depicting Cole's human form, and his likes and dislikes. As a matter of fact, those pages, the ones with Belthazor's information, had been among those burned beyond recognition. Either that or someone had stolen them, because as far as she could remember, they were not among the pages she had recovered. But she **did** remember a set of photos that had been there, of Phoebe and Cole, and she suddenly wished she had recovered at least that much, just so she had something to give to Cole. Alas, the fire had not been selective when it had burned, and along with the Belthazor summoning spell and the Belthazor vanquishing potion, the pictures were now nothing more than ashes in the wind.

"We can salvage it, Piper. It just needs a little cutting upon the edges, but it's still readable—"

Piper shook her head. "No. It's—Libris has been long dead, and I doubt he's ever coming back. Prue was good like that… couldn't rhyme to save her life, but her power always struck true."

Before Paige could say anything else, Piper took the burnt page from her and picked at the charred edges. They disintegrated easily, most of it already ash, but the center of the page remained. "You keep it, then", Paige whispered, reaching behind her and grabbing one of yellow, faded envelopes she had been using to store the pages she thought could be saved. Handing it to Piper, she continued: "It will be a nice thing to remember her by."

The older witch nodded slowly, staring at the envelope in her hand as if she had never seen one before. And then, without giving Paige time to even yelp, hugged her as if her very life depended on it. Taken by surprise, Paige just stood there for a few heartbeats, unsure of what to do—and then she did what came most naturally, and allowed her hands to embrace Piper as well. Wrapping her arms around her, holding her close… it was the closest thing to being a family they had done ever since Phoebe's death, and it felt **good**.

It wasn't a shock to either of them to realize both of them had gleaming eyes when they parted. Paige sniffed, the sudden intimacy striking a chord deep within her chest, and Piper once again brushed her eyes to chase away the tears.

"I love you, you know that, right?"

Blinking rapidly to avoid the tears from falling, Paige nodded. She wasn't one for big demonstrations of affection, what with her parents having died so soon and all, but standing there, in her family's attic, with the pages from the Book scattered around them like big, old snowflakes, well, it felt like the best thing in the world.

"Right back at ya, big sis."

The both chuckled at that. Tension vanquished, they walked out of the attic hand in hand, Paige's voice echoing in the attic: "Say, sis, what's for dinner?"

Behind them, still reclining on its chair, they never saw how the broken triquetra shone once, twice, and then died again.

* * *

. 

TBC…


	10. Interlude I

_** Change of Heart **_

_Interlude I_

by Lilian

lilian413 at yahoo dot com

Author's Notes: As I write CoH, there are several scenes that sometimes don't make the cut. Scenes I write, scenes I love, but they just don't fit the mood/feel of the chapter I'm writing. So they end up being cut off, relegated to the backburner of files I call 'CoH snippets'. But then, I realized I liked them too much to let them be buried like that, but what was I to do? I couldn't stick them in any chapter – considering they had been removed in the first place – so I considered posting them as individual things… I wasn't sure if I was going to post these interludes at all, but then Maricole wrote a review asking for double updates, and I said 'what the hell'. So here it is. The first of the CoH interludes. Dunno how many there will be, or when will they show up: but they exist, so some updates from now own might be doubles!

* * *

. 

"Leo, now!"

He didn't waste time. His hands shot out, grabbing Prue from Paige's hold and he orbed away.

As his very essence dissolved and turned into sparkling light, he wondered if his family was going to be all right. And just as his eyes faded away into nothingness, he caught sight of Piper blowing away demon number three and a small smile curled his lips.

Oh yeah, his family was going to be just fine.

Prue gurgled against his chest, trying to grab the blue glitters dancing around them. She seemed completely at ease, a far cry from just a few minutes ago when a demonic henchman had held her and Leo had thought that was it. They had lost her, lost her to the Source—but before the demon in question could shimmer away, Prue herself had beaten him to the punch and shimmered towards Cole welcoming arms.

As they coalesced back into human shape, the cold air of the mausoleum stale and quiet around them, Leo couldn't help but brush a knuckle against Prue's cheek. The baby leaned into his touch, and smiled at him.

"You did good, kiddo."

Wishing he had the time to orb a blanket for Prue, Leo took off his over-shirt and wrapped the baby with it, although it was not as chilly as one would have believed. After all, it **was** a mausoleum, wasn't it? Cement and marble all around them, not the best for a comfy, warm housing… but then again, whoever had built this back at the turn of the century probably hadn't paused to consider two magical fugitives would one day use it as shelter.

Shaking his head, he began pacing around the room. This was the third attempt at kidnapping Prue. Those living in the Halliwell manor were quick to learn that the Source wanted this baby, and wanted her badly. She had been with them less than two hours when the first demons had come for her: since them, their lives had turned into a whirlwind of attacks, one coming on the heels of the other. Luckily, with both Piper and Cole at their best, most of them never got within a feet of Prue—but there were only so many demons Piper could blow up before they became one too many.

That's why they had come up with this game plan: Leo – both because he had little firepower to speak of, and because his orbs were still faster than Paige's – was the designated teleporter, the one to orb Prue away from danger as soon as the rest of them were able to draw the enemy fire away from him. The mausoleum had been an easy choice: any demon who had once known it was Belthazor's hiding place was either dead or missing, and so far, none of the would-be kidnappers had thought to follow.

Which was good, because despite Leo's courage and certainty that no matter what, he would not let them get Prue, there was also the sad reality that there really wasn't much he could do if push came to shove.

Cursing under his breath his lack of active powers, Leo readjusted Prue in his arms. Perhaps next time he would bring something to entertain her with—or at least something to sit on. Pacing around got old rather quickly, and truth to be told, his arms were getting kind of tired of holding Prue up for so long.

As if sensing his thoughts, Prue stirred in his hold, shifting about so as to get a better look at the chamber around them. Or so Leo thought: it was always hard to tell why Prue did most of the things she did. Despite her young age – and she could not be a day older than three weeks – she seemed impossibly grown up for her age. She moved like a child much older, said the doctor in him, and the way she seemed to grasp most of what was going on defied even his own understanding.

Cole had told him most demonic babies were like that. Which had posed the most obvious question, Leo thought, leaning against the crypt standing right in the middle of the mausoleum chamber. If Prue's parentage had been demonic, why had the baby fled from the Underworld? Why had she sought protection with the Charmed Ones? And why hadn't her true parents come to take her back?

But most important of all: what was it about her that made the Source want her so bad?

He at least had the answer to that last question.

Power.

Little Prue had power. So much so that Leo had yet to see someone who could rival her in it. He could still remember the prickling of her magic that night in the attic, and he knew the Underworld had felt it too. And now they were after her, like bloodhounds after their prey, unstoppable until they were either dead or had achieved their goal.

Prue cooed against his ear, that sound that most babies make when they are seeing something they like, and he turned to find a headstone not five feet from where he stood.

"What is it, honey? What did you see?"

He didn't know how, but he half expected Prue to answer him. Instead, she just looked at him and smiled her big, toothless grin, almost as if daring him to find out on his own. Smiling back at her, he approached the wall. It was old, older than he had first assumed. Taking a look around, he noticed most of the engravings were of the mid 19th century, tracing back generations of people.

With a start, Leo realized he did not know whose family this mausoleum belonged to. Cole had just brought him here once; telling him it was a safe haven for anyone who needed protection against demons and the like. It had been a natural choice once the attacks on Prue began, and it had worked wonderfully so far.

Something akin to shame crept up his spine. He had been spending a lot of time here, hiding from the mercenaries sent to kidnap Prue, and not once had he taken the time and effort to find out whose last resting place they were desecrating. He sent a silent apology – because you never knew who might be listening – and brushed a hand across the dust-covered marble in front of him. Time and grime had washed the letters away, but he still read the last words: "_beloved mother of five_."

"I hope your family was a happy one, ma'am. Whoever it was you might have been."

His voice was incredibly loud against the unnatural silence of the mausoleum, but his heart felt a little better afterwards. Prue gurgled again, and he realized he had read the wrong crypt. It was actually the one to his left that had first attracted the baby's attention, and as he moved closer to look at it, he realized the layer of dust was much thinner over this one. So much so, he didn't even need to wipe it off to read the inscription:

_Benjamin Coleridge Turner _

_1859-1888_

He paused, read again, and blinked. It couldn't be. It was impossible. Cole had told them he had been but a child when his mother had taken him into the Underworld, and the man inside this coffin had been almost thirty years old when he died!

Prue cooed. Leo looked down at her, wrapped up in his shirt, her wide, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. Or that's how he read it, anyway: he wasn't sure babies were supposed to be mischievous at all. And that's when it made sense. This wasn't Cole's grave: it was his father's.

Reaching out, he placed a hand against the gravestone, his fingers a striking comparison against the faded gray of the wall. Did Cole know? Of course he did. How couldn't he? This had been his hideaway for a long time: Leo could tell from the way he talked about the mausoleum, almost as if it was an old friend he sometimes visited. Was this the reason he had chosen this particular place? Because his father's bones were watching over him?

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of such ominous thoughts. But he had been around for far too long to dismiss the possibility: he knew family was one of the strongest protections against magic, and if Cole's haven just happened to hold his family's remains well, then maybe it wasn't a coincidence at all.

He caught something off his peripheral vision then, a burnt stain on the cement floor. Approaching it with slow, careful steps, he knelt beside it, noticing the charred concrete. It looked as if something had been burned there—but the amount of heat generated was far too great for it to be a simple fire. Something had exploded in here, something magical no doubt. But what? And why had he only noticed it now? As if called forth by his questioning, Phoebe's voice floated by him, causing a sharp, sudden pain to blossom in his chest.

_I couldn't kill him, Leo. I had every intention of doing it, but when I got there and I was face to face with him, I just, I couldn't kill him, and I knew that my sisters were going to._

Why was he remembering such things? Specially now, while standing in a deserted mausoleum—he knew Phoebe had spent a great deal of time here, mostly looking for Cole, or fighting with Cole or mourning for him after he first 'died'. Was that what that burnt mark was? His fingers traced the ragged patterns, and for a moment there, he could almost feel the faint traces of heat still lingering about.

"I still have the scars, you know."

The voice startled him. Prue cried out as his sudden motion jiggled her, and Leo stood to find Cole leaning against the entryway. There was blood running down the side of his face and a nasty wound on his temple, but otherwise, he seemed to have survived the attack on the manor just fine. Leo would have offered to heal him, but they both knew that in Cole's case, the remedy was worse than the injury itself.

But if Cole was here, it meant the demons were gone: it was time to go home.

Neither of them moved, however… they stood right where they were, watching each other across the burnt concrete, and Leo could read the uncertainty in Cole's eyes. What had happened here? What did the burn mark mean?

"Scars?" he found himself asking, softly probing him to continue. Something told him he would want to know what Cole had to say…

The half-demon said nothing for a long while. Dressed all in black, he looked sullen and hurt, as if whatever had happened right there in the mausoleum had been of vital importance to him and it pained him to remember it even now. Strangely, Prue remained silent as well. Not a peep came out of the small girl, but Leo could see she was watching Cole with as much intensity as he was—they were both waiting for him to calm down enough to share his burden with them.

"Yeah", Cole whispered finally, and the echo made his words louder despite his attempts to keep them down, "scars. Both of them, actually."

Riding right behind his words, a memory assaulted Leo: he had healed Cole; back when he hadn't known he was a demon yet. He had healed him at Phoebe's request, despite his mistrust, despite his suspicions… he had healed a lethal wound on his waist, where Piper had taken a chunk of his flesh. It had never really healed, Cole's body rejecting Leo's white magic until the two battled as ferociously as their owners once had. But that only accounted for one scar—what other old wound was Cole referring to?

As if reading his thoughts, a sad smile curled Cole's lips. "Did Phoebe ever tell you what happened that night?"

Mentioning her name brought more memories, more regrets into the fold. Prue cooed softly, almost as if she was remembering them herself. But she couldn't be, could she? She hadn't even been alive when all of this had happened; they were talking about something that had happened almost two years ago. The night Cole had been revealed as the demonic assassin sent against the Halliwells.

"Not really, no. She only told me she let you go."

His voice sounded strangely hollow against the silence of the mausoleum. Leo shook his head, gripped Prue tighter against his chest and continued: "I don't think she ever really told anyone. Not even her sisters."

Cole nodded, as if Leo had confirmed something he had suspected all along. What had transpired here in the mausoleum, between the two of them, had been a source of discussion in the Halliwell manor for months. Phoebe never offered to explain, and had politely declined any invitations to do so. Leo understood her reticence: she had come close to killing the love of her life that night, and to share it with her closest family would only open old wounds further. But now, it seemed he was going to get the unique chance to find out from the only other participant in the events: Cole himself.

"She was so angry with me", Cole began, his voice turning softer with every word he spoke, "and I was so desperate to make her understand."

The half-demon moved off the doorway, taking several steps into the floor. He approached the burnt mark, his eyes glued to the spot. Leo wished there was more light in the room so he could read Cole's face, but the older man was an expert at hiding himself when he wanted to. Everywhere he turned, the shadows seemed to move with him.

"I asked her to vanquish me", Cole continued, his entire face remaining within the shadows, only his lower body visible in the flickering light of the single torch behind Leo. His hands were fisted, Leo noted, and there was a faint tremor running up and down Cole's entire frame, as if what he was trying to say had been trying to get out for a long, long time.

It actually came as a surprise to Leo to hear Cole say that. How much trust must he have had in Phoebe to offer his life to her? How very much in love they had been, that they both defied their entire worlds for just a few months together… Leo's heart constricted in his chest at the thought. It seemed defying universal, ancient rules ran in the Halliwell family: wasn't his and Piper's relationship forbidden as well?

Star-crossed lovers didn't even begin to describe it, did it?

"She wouldn't. I kept asking her to, and she wouldn't. And then Krell", the name was whispered such anger that it made the hairs on Leo's arms stand on end, "came."

Cole fell silent after that. His breathing was slow, almost nonexistent, and for a moment there, Leo thought that was all he was going to say. So he spoke up, changing Prue from one arm to the other: "Phoebe mentioned that. She told us you had killed Krell right before she—" He couldn't finish. It had been a lie, yes, a pretty lie meant to soothe the avenging hearts of her sisters. But still, it had been one of the rashest, most passionate decisions Phoebe had ever made, and that resonated against Cole himself: it was a statement of her love for him, of how far she was willing to go for him, and to remind him of that was like driving a dagger right through his chest.

A dry chuckle answered him and Cole stepped into the light. His eyes were haunted, stormy—they looked black in the candlelight, and Leo was forced to remember that underneath that human appearance laid a demon heart.

"Yeah, I did. The bastard tried to kill her and I couldn't—I just couldn't stand there and watch."

Leo knew how hard it was for Cole to tell him these things. That decision, that single decision to kill one of his brethren to save Phoebe had been the last step into the abyss, the last stone over his grave. He had chosen Phoebe above himself, thus forever condemning himself in the demon world. To a man as proud as Cole, it was hard to admit such weakness: but somehow, he was doing it now, laying it out for the only other man who could understand and not judge.

"She—she asked me for my shirt", he said, raising his right hand palm-side up, gazing into his skin as if it held all the secrets of the world. "She used my own athame – the one I was supposed to kill her with – to cut me." He presented his right palm to Leo, held it towards him across the burnt mark, and Leo saw the horizontal scar that ran right across. How he had missed it before, he couldn't really say, but Leo knew that Cole was an expert at hiding certain aspects of him when he wanted to… keeping something as trivial as a scar away from prying eyes must have been rather easy for him.

When Cole was certain Leo had seen in, he took his hand back, slowly, letting it draw across the empty space between them. It lingered above the center of the burn mark, and he seemed to be mimicking his exact motions from two years ago as he continued: "My blood dripped unto the shirt", he said, and squeezed his hand shut so hard his knuckles turned white, "and she used the vanquishing potion on it."

It was almost anticlimactic that there was no explosion to follow his words. Such was the power of his tale that Leo felt as if he had been standing right there, watching the events take place. But he hadn't been, and this had all happened years ago and the fire had died long before Leo had ever set foot in the mausoleum.

A lot of things made sense now. Piper had told him about the explosion, the scorched remains of what they had believed to be Belthazor still burning as they had entered the mausoleum, to find a distraught Phoebe standing alone and alive. It had been quite the clever plan, Leo mused, admiring Phoebe's quick mind. To come up with such a complicated – and at the same time ever so simple – plot in the space of a few heartbeats spoke volumes of Phoebe's abilities. Not only had she succeeded in placating Prue's and Piper's thirst for revenge, but she also made the Underworld believe Belthazor was dead, thus leaving Cole at peace to do as he wished.

_And he came back_, he thought, watching Cole turn away from him as the first tears glittered in his eyes, _even after the chance of freedom she offered him_.

"She was a great woman", Leo said in the end, silently thanking Cole for offering him this. For giving him a glimpse of what it had been like between him and Phoebe; for revealing a side of him he seldom let out, "and she loved you very much."

It seemed like a silly thing to say, considering the circumstances. But it came from his heart and it felt right, so when Cole shook himself and turned back at him, Leo did not regret saying it.

"Yes, she was."

They stared at each other and Prue gurgled, breaking the silence. A small smile curled both their lips and Leo shrugged: "We should be heading back. The girls are going to be worried about us."

Cole nodded. He offered to take Prue from him, and the baby happily stretched out her arms at him as if awaiting his offer all along. As the baby settled more comfortably against Cole's chest, both demon and whitelighter teleported away towards the manor.

At the mausoleum, the burnt mark shivered once, twice, and fire burned at its edges.

True love always leaves something behind.

* * *

. 

TBC…

Yes, I chose to end both 'chapters' in the same fashion. Why? Well, perhaps because I want you to remember this last event as something that will come back later… or maybe I'm just playing with you :-)


	11. Realizations

_** Change of Heart **_

Chapter 10: _Realizations_

by Lilian

lilian413 at yahoo dot com

Author's Notes: This is my favorite chapter so far, if I may say such things. I was never really happy with the way the truth came out in the first version of this story, so when it was time to re-write it, this was the result and I was a very, **very** happy girl. But fear not, readers, because the earlier version of things will somehow work its way in.

On sadder news, I think I'll be forced to install an every-other week update instead of the every-week schedule we've been keeping so far. This mainly because Chicago has eaten my brain and despite of the many, many ideas buzzing around in my head, I just can't seem to find the time to sit down and actually write them. Fear not, this in no way means I'll stop writing CoH (again, ahem), but only that updates will be fewer from now on. Once things settle back down, we can resume the normally advertised schedule of things. :-)

* * *

. 

"Honey, I don't think this is such a great idea."

Piper did not grace her husband with a look, and as she rocked little Prue up and down, she just muttered her answer into Prue's head as she bent down to pick up her discarded toy.

"You've been saying that for the past forty-five minutes. I'm not listening any more."

Leo sighed, rubbing his temples, feeling the headache coming. What was it about babies that drove women insane? He had seen it happen time and time again—even the most sensible of women, the most stoic and pragmatic of all, every single one of them were reduced to mushy, irrational fools! This time, it was Piper's turn: what on Earth had possessed her to take little Prue to the doctor, Leo would never know. The baby was perfectly fine, and if she wasn't, well, what was **he** there for?

He tried telling Piper this, had even managed to get in a word or two before Piper shot him a glare, effectively silencing him. Prue was going to see a doctor, and that was the end of it. _Every baby has to have a pediatrician_, Piper had said, and beside her, Paige nodded accordingly. Leo had tried to find some support in Cole – surely of everyone in the house, **he** would be the one to understand that taking a demonic baby to a human doctor was not a good idea – but Cole had simply shrugged his shoulders and conceded defeat.

_And he calls **me** whipped_, Leo grumbled under his breath, sitting next to his wife in the waiting area of Dr. Barbara Anderson's office. He winced as the toddler to his left decided his mother had spent enough time reading the magazine and broke into tears, loudly announcing to the world that he was a very spoiled child.

The doctor's office was packed. It seemed that every squirming, bellowing baby in San Francisco had set up an appointment for today. And since he and Piper were one of the happy couples, he was stuck listening to five different babies testing out their lungs.

A concerned mother – or nanny, it was really hard to tell these days – was bouncing her baby up and down hard enough to make the tiny hat upon the baby's head bob hypnotically, and Leo tried to ignore the organized chaos happening around him. Closing his eyes for just a moment, he tried some old relaxation techniques he knew, and found out it was really hard to find your center when the sound of a small mechanical merry-go-round was ringing right in your ear. But in the end, his determination won over the ruckus, and he found himself blocking out the outside noise and reaching for that calm, empty space inside.

It had been a little over a month since Prue had come into their lives. And now that they had the diaper changing, bottle-feeding and demon killing down to a science, they were beginning to set up the first blueprints of a plan to get Phoebe out of the Underworld. With their soul protecting spell still going strong – they recast it every few weeks, just to make sure the Source was not working his way around it – they were certain Phoebe's soul was in no danger as of yet. Still, they could not bear the thought of her remaining as the Source's prisoner for longer than she had to, so as soon as things had (somewhat) settled down, they began brainstorming for a plan.

They had not gotten very far: the problem of what to do with Prue while they went into the Underworld to fetch Phoebe's soul had not been resolved. There were options they had dallied with: protection spells, cloaking spells… you name it, they had thought about it, but the real problem remained. There was no one strong enough to defend Prue against the oncoming demon kidnappers but themselves. And since they could not spare anyone for their trip into the Underworld, well, that limited their choices a bit.

Thinking about Prue made him open his eyes and stare at the baby in Piper's lap. Her striking blue eyes were wide and curious as they surveyed the room, and it struck Leo as a really grown-up thing to do. She seemed to be assessing potential threats or even making sure she knew all the exits… it couldn't be, could it? Just to make sure, Leo dropped his shields and scanned the waiting room. No, there were no imminent dangers lurking about. Everyone in the doctor's office was human… seemingly reaching the same conclusion; Prue blinked and seemed to come back into herself. Her hands clapped once, twice, three times, and she bobbed up and down on Piper's legs until the lady sitting across from them broke into a smile.

"She's quite energetic, isn't she?"

Piper nodded, that proud grin she reserved for Prue-related matters sneaking onto her face. "Yeah, she is. It took us forever to get her dressed this morning!" She didn't mention that most of the 'forever' had been occupied chasing the baby around the house as she shimmered from room to room. But the woman needed no further explanation, it seemed, because she nodded in response: "I know what you mean. My little Damon can be quite a handful as well." Both women launched into a conversation involving diapers and excess sugar and baby food, and Leo tuned them out. Prue was trying to climb off of Piper's lap, and scooping the baby up, he walked up to the window.

It was a nice day outside in San Francisco, the sun shinning bright across a cloudless sky, and Prue seemed to like it. Her chubby hands stretched out towards the glass, as if trying to grasp the endless blue that lay beyond it. When her hands met the cold window, she seemed a bit disappointed, but the next shiny thing that crossed her field of sight soon diverted her attention.

It had been the obvious thing to do, Leo knew, to take Prue to a pediatrician. Yes, she was half-demonic, but half of her was human, and as such, susceptible to human diseases. As much as Cole had tried to tell Piper that he had been a perfectly healthy child, there had been no reasoning with her. And, truth to be told, Leo didn't want to test Cole's theory: the half-demon had reacted badly to Leo healing him… what would Leo's magic do if directed to Prue? Better safe than sorry went the saying, right?

So here they were, Piper and him, posing as the proud parents of a healthy baby girl. Looking back at Piper, still engrossed in deep conversation with Damon's mother, Leo felt a pang of angst go off in his chest. How much he wanted to give Piper that gift, a child of their own… but how could they even ponder the thought, with the lives they led? How could they even try, when the knowledge that the Source would use their child as bait always lurked in the horizon?

No, there would be no pitter-patter of tiny feet in the Halliwell manor for a long, long time.

Prue cooed in his ear, motioning for a plastic baby pacifier on the table to his left. Bending down to pick it up, he gave it to her and realized he was wrong: there **would** be tiny feet running around the manor, just not the ones he would've liked. Prue would grow up, as all babies did, and she would start walking, talking and calling them by their names. The thought of hearing her voice say his name – any of their names – was incredibly sweet, and a silly smile curled his lips. As if to prove his point, Prue let out one of her 'dada's', and Leo brushed a finger across her knuckles.

"Leo", he whispered, his voice only an octave above the bustle and hustle of the waiting room, "Can you say that, Prue? Leo."

The girl turned to look at him, always alert when her name was spoken. She looked at him for a while, standing perfectly still on her perch against his chest, and Leo suddenly felt a burst of embarrassment for asking her to say his name. Of course such a young child couldn't say words—she wasn't even two months old!

"Isn't she a little young for that?"

The voice startled him, and he turned to find Damon's mom standing right beside him. Looking for Piper, he found her talking to the secretary, and shrugging his shoulders, explained: "I know. I just wanted to try and see if it worked."

He felt rather silly telling a complete stranger such things, but Damon's mom – what was her name, anyway? – seemed to understand. "I do the same. Roger keeps telling me it's too soon, but I just can't help myself!"

Leo smiled at that. He could relate… and well, he couldn't really explain to this woman that Prue wasn't like other children. Cole had told them demonic babies were early bloomers – which explained Prue's strange behavior and advanced motor skills – so it was often that Leo found himself thinking about Prue as she was months, or even years older than she really was.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name earlier", Leo continued, not letting the conversation fall into a lull. The woman seemed flustered, and she hesitated just the tiniest bit before answering: "Amanda. Amanda Dyes. You are Leo, right? Piper couldn't stop talking about you…"

He flushed, but Amanda was already moving on: "She's such a lovely little girl!" she was saying, tickling at Prue's chin, "you and Piper are **very** lucky to have her." A shadow of something passed through her eyes, fast enough that Leo wondered if he hadn't imagined it in the first place. But then a nurse was calling their name, and Piper was motioning for him to move, so he didn't have time to give it much thought. Apologizing for having to leave, he approached Piper and the waiting nurse, and noticed that Amanda followed their progress all the way from across the room.

A shiver of something run up and down his spine, but by then an elderly woman with a white coat was hugging the life out of Piper and the feeling disappeared.

He shouldn't have dismissed his hunches so easily.

* * *

. 

She stumbled into her quarters with a pained moan. Summoning a privacy shield – if she was going to break down, she'd be damned if she was letting the rest of the Underworld know about it – she blocked herself in. Letting herself fall unceremoniously onto the bed, Phax burrowed her face into the silken sheets, fighting for breath.

The left side of her shirt was burned out, and the skin was still a little tender—Jhiera had made sure her electric bolt hit her where it hurt the most: that place where lung muscle and arm met, so it would hurt just so every time she even **moved**. Cursing under her breath, she rolled upon the bed, wincing when her body protested. Despite her great healing abilities (courtesy of the Source's magic), it still hurt when she was wounded… and she had taken quite a beating today, hadn't she?

Yes, she was getting better. How could she not? She was a quick learner – one had to be in the Underworld or you were dead rather quickly – but Jhiera was always a step ahead. Whenever Phax thought she had mastered a new technique, perfected a new move, Jhiera would come up with a new variation that would end with Phax plastered to one of the walls, preferably coughing up blood.

Anger rose within her like a living beast, snarling and biting. "Damn it", she said, her voice sounding incredibly loud in the empty room. The silence that followed was overwhelming—so much so that she even considered the thought of leaving her quarters just to get away from it. Funny how one could get used to the pained screams of the tortured souls… they were welcomed noise, after a while. But her privacy shield was good, and it kept all outside noise, well, out. So she was left alone with her own ragged breathing as sole companion, and closed her eyes to try and get some rest.

So close, she had been so close this time! The Source had promised her she'd be allowed topside only after she had been able to defeat Jhiera in combat. And tonight she had been so damned close—poised and ready to fire, standing over a kneeling Jhiera, fireball burning in her hand. And then…

And then she had hesitated.

A split second of doubt, less than a heartbeat when her mind rebelled against the thought, and that was it. Next thing she knew she was flying across the training chamber and Jhiera's laughter echoed around her, mocking and baiting.

"Having a conscience is a liability here, Phax", the black-haired demoness told her, a satisfied smirk upon her lips, just the tip of her fangs peeking through, "And until you understand that, you will **never** win."

The bitch had kneeled next to her then, watching with curiosity as Phax's broken ribs mended and the torn skin re-knit itself: "Despite those pretty eyes of yours, you still can't beat me, can you?"

Phax pushed the heels of her hands against her closed eyelids. Yes, pretty eyes indeed. The brown pupils were long gone, erased from her features just as her daughter had been from her life. Her eyes were black now, that midnight black that was the stuff of nightmares. She liked them, liked how they made her look: menacing and imposing, just as the Source's assassin should. And yet there was a tiny part of her that mourned the loss of her true eyes—some distant, mostly ignored part of her that preferred to look into the mirror and not find shadows looking back.

As changes went, it was a pretty good one: demons didn't mess as much with her now. Somehow, the acquisition of demon eyes had given her the status she had coveted for so long—in some ways, the Underworld was a lot like high school, wasn't it? A sick, feeble chuckle bubbled forth from her throat: what would the Source think if he knew she was comparing his reign of terror to a mortal institution?

_Probably kill me. Or laugh his ass off, depending on his mood_.

The image was suddenly too much to bear, and laughter came our sharp and hard. Her body rocked back and forth as the giggles grabbed hold of her, and she didn't even mind the aching of her chest as her ribs objected to the effort.

As her laughter died down, the silence became oppressive once more. It weighed down on her like a living thing, breathing and expanding with every move she made. And then, a faint sound, nothing more than a whisper…

A baby crying.

She bolted upright in bed, heart hammering inside her chest. She wasn't even aware of the twin fireballs dancing atop her hands, and as her eyes scanned the room looking for something that wasn't - **couldn't** – be there, it was as if the very world was holding its breath, waiting for her to decide what to do next. Of course, there was nothing there. Phax knew what it was; knew exactly where it came from. It was her conscience, the same one that had kept her from killing Jhiera that now brought up phantom sounds of her dead daughter to torment her.

What an irony it was, that the very thing that kept her from achieving her goal was also the one fueling her further on.

She had erased the burnt mark on the floor a long time ago. She couldn't bear to look at it, the visual proof of the terrible thing she had been forced to do, so she had cast simple magic upon it. It was long gone, not even a speck of charred rock remaining behind—and still she could see it anyway, burnt into her brain with fire. She found herself unconsciously avoiding that part of the room, circling around it like a scared child. Fitting, wasn't it, that it was also a burn like the one that marked her as the Source's.

Phax ran her fingers across the rune carved into her upper arm. It didn't hurt – her healing abilities made sure of that – but sometimes, when the Source was around it… well, it throbbed. As if recognizing its master, the blood in her veins sang in response to his presence, and it irked the hell out of her. Because it meant there was something in her that didn't belong there, something that wasn't supposed to **be** in her and yet there it was, inside of her, creeping and crawling and just—wrong.

_But it is his blood that grants you power, isn't it?_

Her fingers froze above her skin, poised and ready to attack, when she realized that voice was no other than her own. Strange, but the longer she remained in the Underworld, the more it seemed that some part of her was becoming—different. Separated. **Alive**. Perhaps being a servant to a psychopathic, evil overlord was beginning to rub off on her. Whatever the case, it was spooky to be hearing her voice inside her own head, saying things she wasn't thinking…

_Aren't you?_ The voice came and went like waves upon the shore, fleeing before she could grasp them properly. Shaking her head, she rose from the bed. She really needed to get out of here if she was beginning to hear voices… perhaps if she went out for a walk, some demon stupid enough to cross her path would prove enough entertainment to silence her own mind.

As Phax left the room, she failed to notice a shadowy figure reflected on her mirror. It smiled, fangs flashing in the darkness, and then dissolved as if it had never existed at all.

* * *

. 

Piper was impressed. She remembered Dr. Anderson as an energetic, vivacious woman, who looked a lot like her mother in that way that all adults do when you're a child. Now, almost thirty years later, she was still an energetic, vivacious woman—except she now had gray hair and glasses, and her right hand shook just the tiniest bit when she had it in the air for long.

"Oh my God, Piper, I still can't believe it's you. You are such a lovely young woman!"

She blushed, never really one to take compliments well. This was a woman who had seen her out of her mother's womb—she was an OB/GYN as well a pediatrician, not an uncommon mixture for the doctors of the old school. It was nice to hear her say such things, but also the tiniest bit embarrassing.

"I swear, you look just like your mother", Dr. Anderson was saying now, and this time, the praise made Piper smile. The good doctor was not the first one to notice the family resemblance, but still, the knowledge that sometimes people looked at her and saw her mother reflected in her features; well, it made Piper's heart swell with pride.

"And who is this little angel?"

Prue gurgled upon her lap, and Piper shook herself off her reverie. "This is Prue, doctor. **Our** Prue." It was a two-edged sword, that sentence… on one side, it gave her warm and fuzzy feelings in her stomach to present Prue as her daughter, but on the other hand, it also made the lack of true children of her own a lot more painful. But Dr. Anderson was already talking, and Piper chased the gloomy thoughts away: "Is she indeed? Let's have a look at her, then."

It struck Piper as a little odd that Dr. Anderson had not asked about Prue's origins—she had a nice cover story that comprised home birth and natural remedies – but then again, the good doctor had never asked much questions where the Halliwells were concerned. As they moved to the examination table, where Piper set Prue down, she wondered just how much Dr. Anderson really knew… hadn't she, after all, seen their blood work more than once? She **had** to know something!

As Dr. Anderson took Prue's temperature, measured her heartbeat and did the doctor thing, Piper caught something moving on the edge of her vision. Through the corner of his eyes, she saw one of the baby cubes beginning to float. Nothing too fancy, just a few inches above the floor, but it was enough to catch her attention, and unless she did something quick, soon Dr. Anderson would take notice.

Making sure she was out of the doctor's sight, she mouthed silent words to Prue: "Honey, not now. We're in public."

Prue cooed, looking up to her with impossibly big blue eyes. Piper shook her head to emphasize her point, and repeated, still quietly: "Please, Prue. Put it down." For a moment it seemed Prue was not going to agree. But then her features scrunched up as she smiled, and the cube floated back down harmlessly. Just then, Dr. Anderson extracted the stethoscope from her ears and announced: "Well, she is a perfectly healthy young baby girl."

As if in cue with her words, the door opened and a young nurse came in. She handed Dr. Anderson some charts and then exited with a small smile directed at Prue. The doctor opened the first file, and grinned, turning back to look at them: "I took the liberty of calling for your old charts… keeping things in the family, you know?"

The doctor motioned for them to sit down while she moved back to the desk. Piper set Prue back on her lap, wishing they had brought up her stroller from the car. Alas, they hadn't, so she was stuck with having to hold on to a very impatient, squirming Prue while waiting for Dr. Anderson to finish going through Prue's blood work. This was the point of no return: this was when they were going to know if Dr. Anderson really knew something… Piper searched the old woman's face, trying to catch a glimpse of surprise, a hint of '_hmm, this is not supposed to be here'_, and for a split second, she feared the worst. But then Dr. Anderson looked up, closed the charts, and smiled: "Everything's just fine."

The breath both Piper and Leo had been holding came out rather loudly, and again, Dr. Anderson proved her impartiality by saying nothing. She just shook her head and flicked Prue's nose from across the desk. Prue answered with a giggle and swatted at the doctor's hand.

Something inside of Piper released, something tight and twisted that had been living inside her chest. Some concern for Prue's well being, perhaps, or simply the fear of bringing a half-demon baby to a human pediatrician. Whatever the case, hearing the doctor say that there was nothing wrong with her was incredibly liberating… but it also brought up a lot of questions. If Dr. Anderson knew – and Piper was pretty certain she did – about the blood abnormalities and the strange results that came with the Halliwell last name, did that mean Prue had the same inconsistencies? But shouldn't she be different, as different from the Halliwells as they were from other mortals, because of her demonic make-up? Why hadn't Dr. Anderson said anything?

Leo was asking something, but Piper was too lost in her own thoughts to hear him. There was a feeling in the back of her head, a buzzing of sorts that demanded her attention. She had just stumbled into something back there, something very, **very** important… what was it, dear Goddess, what **was** it?

"No, not at all", Dr. Anderson was saying, shaking her head and making her glasses bob upon her nose, "She is perfectly healthy. She is just a little small for her age, but most children don't finish their development until their first year. She still has a lot to grow, don't you precious?"

Prue gurgled, assenting. Dr. Anderson's smile turned wider, and Piper responded unconsciously by readjusting Prue on her lap. "She reminds me so much of Phoebe, though—the resemblance runs strong in your family!" continued the doctor, shaking her head in disbelief.

Piper opened her mouth to correct her, but the words died upon her lips. Leo stepped in then, but this time, not even the echo of his voice could reach Piper. Because, as her fingers tightened upon Prue's waist and the girl jumped up and down in glee, something clicked into place in Piper's head.

_She reminds me so much of Phoebe. _Dr. Anderson's words reverberated in Piper's mind, awakening a certainty that she hadn't even known existed.

_She reminds me of Prue_, Cole had said, back when Prue had first come into their lives.

And hadn't she herself been thinking, not long ago, that there was an incredible similarity between Prue's and Cole's eyes?

Mind reeling from the revelation, Piper gently held Prue and turned her around, blue eye meeting brown. The small girl flashed her a toothless grin, the kind that melted people's hearts, but all Piper could ask herself was why hadn't she seen it before. It was there, it was right **there**! It was there in the shape of her eyes, all Prue's, her sister's, almond-like and elegantly curved up. It was there in the slope of her nose, all Cole's—and there, right there, it was Phoebe's smile!

A gasp fell from her lips and Prue clapped, almost as if congratulating Piper on discovering her secret. Piper's hands felt clammy and shaky when she set Prue down again, not quite trusting her own strength at this point.

Prue was Phoebe and Cole's daughter… Prue was Phoebe's **daughter**. She was an aunt!

A hand settled upon her shoulder and she jumped in surprise, eyes flashing and meeting Leo's worried glance. "Honey? Is that okay with you?"

She blinked a few times. "Uh?" was all she managed to articulate. It seemed she was seeing everything from behind this magnifying glass, making everything stand out with eerie contrast. She could almost count the specks of gold inside Leo's blue eyes…

"Bringing Prue back for another check-up in about a month", Leo told her, frowning at her apparent lack of interest in Prue's well fare. But no, that wasn't it! She wanted to tell him, she needed to tell him, but Dr. Anderson was there—should she freeze her? Should she stop time and share this incredible secret with Leo?

The decision was taken from her as she found herself nodding. No, not yet. She needed proof, needed to make sure… she wouldn't bring her family's hopes up for nothing. She needed to get back to the house, to the Book—there had to be some spell for this. That had survived the fire, of course… but it didn't matter! None of it did. Because Prue… Prue was family! Real, honest to Goddess, family. She was Phoebe's daughter, Cole's daughter—oh my Goddess, what did this mean about Phoebe's soul?

She had been pregnant! Nausea made her vision swim. Phoebe had been pregnant when she had been taken into the Underworld! She watched Leo shake hands with Dr. Anderson, saw herself do the same. But she heard nothing, felt nothing but the weight of Prue in her arms. The sudden urge to protect her was now overwhelming—if before it had consumed her, now it literally inflamed her.

Dear Goddess, they had been protecting her from the Source for all the wrong reasons! And the Elders, they hadn't said anything! They didn't know? How could they **not** know? How could they not **tell** them?

She and Leo walked down the corridor; Leo's voice a comforting noise in the back of her mind. So many things she needed to do, so many things she needed to say! She handed Prue to Leo as they arrived at the secretary's desk, reaching for her purse to pay for the consult. Why was she taking so long? Why wasn't she rushing home, demanding Leo orb the three of them back to the manor instead of staying here, doing things that seemed so trivial and ordinary in light of the recent events?

The small part of her brain that was still the rational, logical businesswoman answered: _Because you are going to take this slow. And you're going to do it right_.

She felt a presence to her left, and turned to find Amanda – Damon's mom, and where the hell was Damon anyway? She hadn't seen him in all the time they had been waiting, and dear Goddess, did it really matter? – standing a few inches behind her.

"How did it go?"

Amanda's voice was loud and shrilly, but Piper didn't really register it. She just shrugged, her hands trying to open a pen to write the check and mumbled her answer: "Fine, I guess. Just—just fine."

Piper looked down to her shaking, suddenly very small hands. To her right, she heard Prue coo and she smiled. Her niece, her beautiful baby niece…

"I'm really sorry, Piper."

The young witch looked up. She wasn't sure she had heard right: a baby had begun crying its eyes off in the back of the room, and the loudspeakers were beginning to blare right in her ears and her head was spinning, and she only managed to ask 'For what?' before her knees collapsed from under her and she went down.

The last thing she saw was Amanda's hand glittering with green dust, the same kind that was now going up her nose.

* * *

. 

Roaring in anger, the Source vanquished the dark priestess kneeling before him. The woman went up in a ball of fire, lighting up the far corners of the room, but the Source didn't even spare her a glance.

What had gone wrong? His plan was perfect! The Halliwells were unaware of their sister's fate—they believed her to be well and truly dead. How had they managed to learn of his plans?

Anger rolled off of him in waves, making the edges of his black robe billow about. Hints of red and white skin peeked through, but no one was stupid enough to be in his presence, not without being requested first. So there was no one to see it, and that was exactly the way the Source wanted it to be. There were many reasons why he wore the heavy cloak wherever he went, the least of which was the protection spell he had cast upon it hundreds of years ago.

Oh yes, his cloak was there to conceal other things, unspeakable things, things the Underworld would kill to learn. But he had taken good care of that, hadn't he? Making sure everyone who knew his secret was dead and buried, vanquished by his own hand when he was but a youngling. Yes, there was no one who knew his secret now, and the Source liked it that way.

His mother had been the first one to realize her half-breed son was not completely demonic. And she had taken great pleasure in trying to burn the human out of him… much like the Source himself had done hundreds of years later with Belthazor. But in neither case had the purging worked, the human side of them too ingrained to be removed without killing them completely. He bore the scars of that ceremony underneath his cloak, rivulets of badly healed skin snaking all across his midsection. Belthazor had been much luckier: be it fate or chance, the half-breed's healing abilities had erased most of the scars away, while he, leader of the Underworld had been left a torn, disfigured puppet… a wicked smile curled the Source's lips. He had made his mother pay for that, he remembered, oh yes he had. In fact, it gave a whole new meaning to that mortal saying, about having your mother's eyes…

At least his pathetic human father had not given him the worst of curses: a soul. That was the only thing the Source was grateful for, if there was room for such a feeling in his blackened heart. As it was, he didn't really care if he had a soul or not: had he been damned with one, he would have had it removed eons ago.

Which brought him to his present predicament… he had been following Phax's progress closely. After teaching her the basics, after making sure his blood in her veins was not driving her insane – not an uncommon effect when the Blood Link was established – he had transferred the teaching duties to Jhiera. It was quite entertaining to watch the two of them fight: Jhiera was quite a skillful warrior, wise in the ways of martial arts and magic, and he could think of no better teacher for his newly christened assassin. He also knew Jhiera absolutely hated Phax. And he wanted it that way… he knew from firsthand experience what a powerful force hatred was, and it would drive Jhiera to the edge of her skills, thus making Phax the best warrior **she** could be.

There had been something he hadn't seen coming, though. A tiny glitch in his otherwise perfect plan… that, no matter how much of himself was inside Phax, no matter how many scars he branded her with, she was always, first and foremost, human. And humans, by definition, had souls.

Fury escalated within him rapidly, and he wished he could bring back to life the priestess he had just killed: the foolish woman had been unable to eradicate Phax's soul as he had ordered, thus uncovering the Halliwells latest ploy.

Those children, those ridiculous, disgusting children had come up with a way to keep him from reaching Phax's soul! It was his, by right, for the taking—and they were keeping him from it! How, he still did not know… upon Phax's arrival into the Underworld, the first thing the Source had done was cast a cloaking spell upon her. That way, no summoning spell would be able to call her away from him. It was standard procedure for prisoners; after all, when your enemies could call them back at will, it was pretty much a given!

But now, somehow, the Halliwells had empowered that spell, wrapped tighter bindings around it until not even **he** could reach it. And how could he destroy it, if he couldn't touch it in the first place?

Rays of electricity erupted from his fingertips, burning the rock walls around him. Damn them, damn them all to hell! How was he supposed to get rid of Phax's last remaining link to the mortal world? How would she become his perfect assassin, if she couldn't even get past that pesky soul of hers? He had been watching her when she had hesitated, in the fight today with Jhiera. She had been standing above her, ready to deliver the last blow—and she had **stopped**. It was that soul at work, that last speck of good in her, preventing her from fully embracing evil.

He would have to keep looking, find a way to get around the witches' spell. Just as they had found a way around his, he would study this new turn of events and figure a way out.

He had been waiting for this for generations. He would spare a few more weeks.

* * *

. 

"Mr. Wyatt!"

Leo heard his name, and before he even began to turn to look behind him, he knew something was terribly, horribly wrong. Someone rushed right past him, almost knocking him down in the process, and as he held on to the wall for support, he saw it. Saw **her**.

"Piper!"

Her name came out dripping in fear. His beautiful, beautiful wife was on the floor, her face slack and her eyes closed and she wasn't moving. A nurse was taking her pulse and making sure she was still breathing, and for all the years of doctor training and warfare Leo had endured, as he watched Piper be moved about, he had absolutely no idea what to do.

In his arms, Prue began bawling, adding her voice to the ruckus of the waiting room. People were screaming, babies were crying, and the loudspeakers – that usually allowed soft, serene music to waft down to the patients – were blaring music so loud and hard it made his ears hurt. He just stood there for what seemed like an eternity, watching the nurse prop Piper's head up on a pillow, and then, as his wife's hand fell to her side, limp and unresponsive, something in him snapped.

He moved to her like lightning, and he barely registered the gentle, compassionate hands offering to take Prue from him as he knelt down besides Piper's still form. He had just handed the baby over and fell by Piper's side. His fingers flew to her chest, trying to find her heart – if he could only find her heart, feel it beating, then it would be all right .The nurse tried to push his hands away, claiming he should let her breathe, come back to it on her own, but Leo didn't even grace her with a look.

Her heart, he needed to find her heart… his fingers scratched at the purple shirt she was wearing, pushing the soft fabric aside and then—there it was! Steady and strong, nothing major then, and all sound came rushing back. He heard the nurse say something about vapors and malnourishment, and heat waves and fainting spells, and a distant, ironic part of him wondered if the nurse knew how ridiculous that last statement sounded when Piper was concerned. Because she was his witch, his strong, beautiful witch and fainting spells were not part of her repertoire, were they?

Why was he thinking such things? Letting a little bit of his magic flow through his hand, letting it sink into Piper's chest, he willed her to wake up. Nobody noticed the faint glowing outline of his hand amidst the chaos the waiting room had turned into. And even though Leo could feel – and see – that most of the mothers and nurses and secretaries had gathered around him like gawking spectators of some sick, twisted accident, he realized he didn't even care if anyone had.

Piper woke with a start, the burst of healing magic forcing her consciousness to return with sudden force. The nurse – C. Evans, Leo noted, reading her nametag – pushed Piper back down, whispering soothing, calming words to her. Piper was having none of it. Her arms flailed about and she tried to rise time and time again, until her strength seemed to leave her and she remained down, her eyes wide and unblinking as they turned this way and that, desperately seeking something. They found it as they met Leo's worried pupils. Before he could even speak, tell her everything was all right, Piper's right hand found his arm and latched on hard. He winced as her fingernails dug into his skin even through the flannel of his shirt, but as he tried to slowly extricate himself from her hold, he came to realize her grip on him was too strong.

"Prue", Piper whispered hoarsely, and then dissolved into a coughing fit that seemed to exhaust her even further. Nurse Evans was screaming for someone to get a gurney, but all Leo could see were Piper's dilated pupils and feel her fingers squeezing the life out of him.

"She's just fine, honey. Don't you worry", he began, brushing a hand across her forehead, "just stay still, ok?"

Piper shook her head vehemently, so much so that something fell from her long hair and towards the floor. Nobody else seemed to notice it – with everyone voicing their opinions on what could've caused a perfectly healthy young woman to collapse like that – but Leo did, and it sent off the first warning signals in his head.

"Prue", Piper repeated, this time in a steadier voice. Leo reached across her and scooped up the glittering particles that had fallen from her long tresses, noticing there were several still attached to her face and hair. It looked like glitter—his fingers stung as they came into contact with it, and he knew what they were. And paled at the thought.

Piper was looking at him with pleading, desperate eyes, and Leo suddenly understood why she couldn't really move. She was paralyzed, most of her upper motor functions shot to hell by this green powder that someone had thrown on her.

"Prue", Piper said for the third time, and someone was pushing Leo back as they brought a gurney in and began pulling Piper up on it. "Amanda!" Piper's last shout was loud enough to reach Leo from across the group of people, and he understood.

Where was Amanda? He remembered handing Prue to her, right after seeing Piper on the floor… where was she?

A quick scan of the room revealed neither the baby nor the woman were in sight. Fear crept up Leo's spine. How could he have been so stupid? He had played right into the woman's plans! She had done all of this, blowing the dust on Piper, being right beside him as he went down to tend to his wife, politely offering to take Prue from him—goddamnit, he was such a fool!

Heart racing, he hesitated for a split second, watching the nurses and paramedics begin to roll Piper out the door… but then the knowledge that Piper was going to be fine – albeit a little groggy for the next few days – made up his mind. Amanda had been human, that much he knew. He would've felt her if she had been something else, and so would have Prue… that meant she would have to rely on human locomotion to escape. And he knew just how to find her…

Concentrating on Prue's signature had always been easy: somehow, she resonated in his witch radar a lot like the sisters did. And now, it took him less than a heartbeat to focus inward and to sense her. There, she was moving down to the parking lot!

Without another thought, he made his way to the hallway, and after making sure no one was looking, orbed down to the underground parking lots. He reappeared right into Amanda's path, and the woman cried out in surprised as he materialized out of thin air.

"Give her back", he said, and was surprised to hear himself. Was that his voice?

Amanda said nothing, and simply clutched Prue harder to her breast. The baby was strangely silent, her wide, blue eyes focusing on Leo and pleading quietly for him to rescue her. Whatever device or spell Amanda was using to block Prue's shimmer, it was working, and that worried Leo to no end.

"You don't understand, I have to—"

His hand rose, silencing her. He didn't need her explanations. He knew what was going on… the Source had realized demonic kidnappers weren't really working out, so he had retorted to human ones. After all, how many babies disappeared in San Francisco any given day? What would an extra missing child do?

Anger burned within his chest, that this woman, this mother – was Damon real? Or had he just been a ploy, used to lure them in, let them relax around her so she could steal Prue? – would go to such extremes. Poison his wife, kidnap an innocent little girl… it was disgusting!

"Just give her back", he repeated, expanding his senses to detect any threats nearby. Surprisingly, there were none. No demonic trail marks, no evil magic in the air… was this an isolated event? Was this some surprising, terrible coincidence? No, it couldn't be. Amanda had Palsy Powder on her, which meant someone with magical connections had given it to her. And adding Prue to the equation, well, it wasn't really hard to say who was responsible, right?

That the Source would stoop as low as this should not have surprised him as much. But it did.

"Please, Leo, please. I have to, or they'll hurt Damon!"

Amanda's eyes were impossibly wide, brimming with such fear that they reminded him of Piper's. He knew that if he listened just hard enough, he would be able to hear Amanda's rapidly beating heart—looking at her now, Leo could see things he should've noticed the first time he talked to her. The shaking of her limbs, the thin sheen of sweat upon her upper lip, the heavy breathing and considerable tremors… either this woman was suffering from withdrawal symptoms, or was on the verge of a mental – and physical – breakdown. Seeing as there were no needle marks on her arms, or any other indication of drug abuse, Leo was betting that Amanda was under some serious pressure. Which, for some reason, appealed to his sense of compassion and prompted him to change his tone of voice. It became lower, calmer; steadier… it was the whitelighter that was speaking now.

"Amanda, listen to me. You don't have to do this. We can help you. Just, just give me Prue back."

The woman shook her head, taking a hesitant step back. Around them, the atmosphere of the parking lot was loaded with tension. The smells of gasoline and stagnant air were heady, making Leo's vision swim, but he pushed on forward, knowing that there was no way he was leaving this place with getting Prue back.

"Please, Amanda. You have to understand: whoever gave you that powder is not good. They want Prue and I can't let them have her."

Something he said struck home. Amanda tilted her head to the side, and her voice came to him in waves, the shadows of the parking lot lengthening as a light to their left gave out. "Is—is Piper going to be all right? They said—they told me it would just make her dizzy, but I think I used too much and she went down and I didn't know what to do, and then everyone was screaming and the music was so loud and I just—I just took her and ran."

Leo nodded. It was always good to agree with the potentially crazy. He moved a little closer to Amanda, stretching out his hand. The woman didn't move away, but she did turn just the tiniest bit, almost as protecting herself from an attack. He paused, made soothing noises like you would to calm a wounded animal, and whispered: "She is going to be fine. It's not lethal, the Palsy Dust." He knew it wasn't: he had seen its effects before. "Amanda, look at her. Look at Prue."

The blonde woman did, looking down at Prue, who despite her silence had tears running down her pudgy cheeks. "She is very scared, Amanda", Leo said, repeating her name constantly, knowing it was a good way to keep her anchored to him, to keep her from bolting the moment he made any sudden moves, "She doesn't understand what is going on. Just give her to me, and we can work this out."

Amanda shook her head again, set on her beliefs. "I can't. Not until—not until Damon is all right."

Horror infused Leo's mind. Those bastards—taking an innocent child to force its mother to kidnap another one… it was almost too convoluted to be the Source's plan. But then again, he was the Lord of the Underworld, wasn't he? And he was desperate to get Prue, one way or another… would something as small as blackmail really even register on the Source's board? Probably not.

"We can help you, help Damon. You don't have to do this."

Confusion flashed across Amanda's face. "Help Damon? You were the ones who took him!"

Leo paused, his hand falling a few inches as he took in Amanda's words. "We? No, Amanda, that's impossible. We're the good guys—it's demons the ones who took Damon from you. And we can help you get him back, if you trust us."

Sharp, loud laughter followed. Leo sought Amanda's eyes, tried to find them in the darkness of the parking lot, but failed to do so. The woman had moved back into the shadows, and Leo knew that every moment that went by with Prue in her grasp, was an open window for the demons to come in and sweep them both away. Come to think, why hadn't they already? It was all there—Amanda would be powerless to stop them, and Prue's shimmer was blocked; what were they waiting for? He knew better than to think his mere presence would scare the bounty hunters away: if anything, it would've been an incentive! He had no active powers to speak of, and it fit the demonic twisted brain to snatch Prue right out from under their noses…

"Help me get him back?" Amanda hissed, her face contorting in wrath. Even in the dim lighting of the parking lot, Leo could see how her fingers tightened upon Prue's clothes, and the baby squirmed uncomfortably but otherwise, made no noise. What had Amanda done to her?

"You took him from his bed, and you expect me to believe you now?"

There was no way Amanda was faking this: her anger was too real, her fear too strong. Demons had taken Damon from her, kidnapped him during the night and forced her to do the same to someone else. He shook his head, trying to correct her: "No, Amanda, we didn't. Demons did. It's what they do. And now they are using you to cause more pain!"

A door opened behind them, and steps began approaching. The noise echoed around them, drawing closer and closer, and Leo pleaded one more time: "Please!" Something in his voice must've reached Amanda, because she seemed to pause in mid-step. The footsteps turned away from them, walking away and making Leo breathe a little easier. How was he going to explain all of this?

"You really love her, don't you?"

As she spoke, Amanda took three cautious steps towards him. Leo could only nod, so many things rushing to the front of his mind that it left him speechless. Yes, he loved Prue—who wouldn't? But it was more than that… it was what could happen if Amanda took Prue back to the demons that wanted her. It was the immense fountain of power she possessed, it was the future of the world! But he said nothing. It would only confuse Amanda even further, and now that she seemed to be slowly beginning to trust him, he did not want to shatter that fragile link.

"You will really help me get Damon back?"

Leo nodded again. At this point, he would've agreed to do anything the woman asked, but as things stood, rescuing her son from evil sounded like a fair trade. Seeing that Amanda needed a little extra reassurance, he continued aloud: "We will. The demons that took him will loathe the day they came to your home."

Again that flash of confusion. But Amanda was approaching him now, and as she tentatively handed Prue over to him, she asked: "Demons? No, you've got it all wrong. It wasn't demons who took my Damon… they were angels."

The young whitelighter smiled. Not an uncommon mistake, that was: mortals were so surprised to see people materializing out of thin air that they usually confused orbing with shimmering—after all, magic is magic, right? And people would rather think angels are visiting them than the darkest forces of Hell. Holding Prue close, checking her for injuries and incredibly relieved to hear her bellow like the world was coming to an end, he said: "I am an angel, Amanda. You saw me come in—all swirling lights and blue sparks?" He borrowed Paige's description of their orbing abilities without shame: it **was** a pretty accurate description, in the end. "Demons don't do that."

Amanda hugged herself, face still tight with angst. "I know, Leo. That's how I know they were angels: when they took Damon from me, they came in glittering light and blue orbs."

Leo could not even begin to describe the horror that filled him at Amanda's words.

* * *

. 

Tbc...


End file.
